


Bathroom Tricks

by luminescence2



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal, Angst, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, CG/L, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Enemies With Benefits, Fluff, Friends to Enemies, Hand Jobs, High School AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sass, Slow Build, Smut, a lot of sex basically, lots of cute stuff involving louis' inexperience, lots of internal monologuing, louis doesn't know how to date, louis is sixteen harry is eighteen, oh and louis has a daddy kink and harry is confused by it, rim jobs, sex without feelings, so much sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 140,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminescence2/pseuds/luminescence2
Summary: louis tomlinson doesn't do relationships. but he does do harry styles.





	1. Bathroom Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> *hello! this is one of my favorite stories i've ever written, and i hope that you enjoy it too! it's FULL of smut (45 smut scenes i believe) and lots of character development and angst, if that's your thing. it IS rewritten for larry, so if there are any mistakes in translations, please let me know!*

A sophomore like Louis Tomlinson shouldn’t have quite as much influence over the student body that he does, and while it doesn’t seem to bother anyone except Harry Styles, it bothers him to the extent that he literally wants to shove the scrawny little noodle against the lockers and tell him to get off his fucking pedestal every time he sees him walking down the hallway, his little cronies following after him. Lou says he’s overreacting, that he shouldn’t let the ‘scrawny little noodle’ get to him as much as he is. Harry never really knows what exactly to say to that, so he just keeps his mouth shut and sulks in private instead. And by ‘sulks in private’ I mean he glares at Louis in the hallways and he bitches about him to his friends every chance he gets, and at night he wishes only the worst on the boy from Doncaster. 

“You know Haz, if you maybe just exchanged a few words with him, you’d realize he’s not as stuck-up as you make him out to be,” Liam says one day as they’re in the cafeteria, sitting at their usual table, eating their usual lunch. Harry had just been glaring daggers at Louis, who had burst into loud, obnoxious giggles over something funny that Niall Horan had said, and for some reason the sound of his joy just rubbed Harry the wrong way. At Liam’s words, he snaps his head away from the scene to glare instead at Liam, crossing his arms tightly and pursing his lips. “How would you know? Have you been talking to him?” he asks, voice cold. Liam blinks a few times, before picking up a fry and popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “He’s in student council with me,” he replies casually. 

Harry rolls his eyes, swiveling back around in seat to continue to glare at the back of Louis' head. “Of course he’s part of the fucking student council,” he mutters under his breath, unreasonable anger coursing through his veins. He understands that he shouldn’t let a kid like Louis irritate him this much, but he couldn’t help it. He’s spent the past three months hating the boy, it’s not his fault that every single thing he does annoys him. He hears low chuckles coming from Liam, and when he turns around to see what he’s chuckling about, he sees Liam staring at him, eyes crinkled a bit in laughter, shaking his head slightly. “What?” Harry snaps, narrowing his eyes. Liam laughs a bit more, just shaking his head and picking up his tray. “Nothing, babe,” he says, walking past him and leaving him alone. 

Harry exhales loudly in frustration, before picking up his tray roughly and tossing its contents into the trash, before leaving the cafeteria in the opposite direction of Liam. He navigates the empty halls until he arrives at the secluded set of bathrooms at the end of the fine arts hallway, which had a lock on the door from the inside so that he could hide away if need be. He doesn’t hide often, only when he’s in a particularly bad mood, which he’s in as of right this moment, spurred by Liam’s nonchalantness and of course, Louis. 

He locks the door behind him, and goes to the counter, leaning against it and staring at his pathetically red face. His friends are right, he shouldn’t get so worked up over a stupid sophomore. He’s a senior, he should be worrying about finals and colleges and graduating, not some boy. He splashes some cold water on his face in effort to calm him down, and it works a bit, his shoulders slumping as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

He’s about to miss his calculus class, which he doesn’t really want to miss, so he takes a deep breath, brushes his hair to the side, and unlocks the door, swinging it open. As luck would fucking have it, as soon as he takes a step outside, he collides into his self-sworn worst enemy, their chests colliding, knocking the breath out of the both of them, the two stumbling back. Harry narrows his eyes as he rubs his chest, looking up, ready to curse out the kid, but before he could get a single word out, he’s being pushed back into the bathrooms by Louis, his tiny hands against his chest, his head looking over his shoulder as laughter bubbles out of his lips. “What do you think you’re—,” Harry starts to say, but Louis cuts him off, physically pressing his hand against Harry’s mouth, which only infuriates Harry even more as he sputters against the contact. “Shh! I’m trying to hide from Niall!” Louis says, his voice high pitched and excited. 

Harry narrows his eyes as they reenter the bathroom, Louis finally removing his hands from his body and shutting the door, locking it swiftly. Harry wipes his mouth off, breathing heavily, his blood boiling at the thought of being in such a confined space as Louis. Louis checks to make sure the door is securely locked before turning around, a crazed expression on his face, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Sorry for pushing you,” says, running a hand through his hair. Harry only glares at him, his hands balling into fists at the side. He doesn’t say anything, but instead makes to leave, pushing past Louis, headed towards the door. However, before he could open it, Louis' fingers wrap around his wrist and yank him back, winding an arm around his waist, his lips at Harry’s ear. Harry feels goosebumps break out across his skin at the intimate embrace, his cheeks flushing with sudden embarrassment, and another emotion. Was it arousal? Surely not. He’s not gay. At least, he doesn’t think. 

“I’m sorry for locking you in here with me, I know you don’t like me, but you can’t leave! Otherwise I’ll be all alone while Niall tries to find me,” he says the last part softly, his voice dropping almost an entire octave. His breath blew across Harry’s ear, causing him to shiver and pull out of Louis’ awkward embrace, and shaking his head, trying to gather his thoughts. “How do you know I don’t like you?” he asks, curious despite himself. Louis blinks at Harry, before chuckling, leaning against the countertop. “I see the way you look at me, it’s like you’re damning me to hell or something,” he replies, so casual it makes Harry’s blood run cold in guilt and embarrassment. 

He sputters, trying to come up with an excuse, but he can’t find the right words, because Louis is right, he does look at him like that. Louis laughs, lifting a finger to his bottom lip and pulling down on it, before slipping the finger inside his mouth and sucking on it for a moment, his eyes darkening strangely. Harry watches, mesmerized, not fully realizing what he’s doing, before Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “I also see the other way you look at me,” he says, his voice sultry. Harry’s eyes widen as he comprehends what Louis is getting at, and he feels his cheeks heat up as he violently shakes his head. “What? No, I don’t—,” 

“I think it’s hot,” Louis cuts him off, running his hand down his chest slowly, seductively. Harry can’t help but feel lust pool in his stomach, his entire body heating up as he takes in the expression on Louis’ face. He doesn’t even know if he actually feels desire for Louis, or just the situation in general, but either way, it’s starting to get uncomfortable, his cock noticeably hardening beneath his jeans. Harry gulps nervously, backing up until he hit the door, unconsciously licking his lips. Louis chuckles, leaning away from the counter and walking up to Harry, lifting an arm and bracing his hand against the door, his body unreasonably close to Harry’s. Harry feels his heart speed up as he tries to focus on what’s happening, how much he hates Louis, and how little he wants to be here. 

“Might as well take advantage of the situation, huh?” Louis says suddenly, before tilting his head and licking a stripe up the side of Harry’s neck. Harry’s body betrays him as he lets out a moan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head at the contact, Louis' breath hot against the sensitive skin. However, his conscious catches up with him, and he feels a rush of disgust as he roughly pushes Louis off of him, causing the younger boy to stumble back. Harry is expecting him to get the message, but Louis just stands back up straight, smirking seductively, his eyes dark with lust. He lifts a hand to wipe his mouth, letting his hand purposely pull his lower lip down again. Harry feels his mouth water at the sight, and while a big part of his mind is screaming no, the physical side of things is screaming yes. He wants to feel Louis’ lips on his skin again, all over him, hands running up and down—

“Don’t act like you don’t want me, Harry,” Louis says, interrupting Harry’s internal monologue. Harry’s eyes widen at Louis' blunt words, and he swallows nervously again, trying to decide what to do. He wants Louis so badly at this point, his cock straining against his jeans, but he still doesn’t like him. He really doesn’t like him now, actually, now that he’s put him in this position. Harry hates the effect the kid has on him, but that’s the logical part of his mind, and it’s currently being overpowered by the part that just wants some relief from all this tension. And the relief is standing right in front of him, running a hand up and down his torso, pinching his own nipples, which only turns Harry on further for some reason. 

He bites his lip, locking eyes with Louis’, the back of his mind noting how blue they are, even with the lustful filter. He has never noticed the color of his eyes before. He sways slightly on his feet, contemplating for a moment, before deciding to just fuck everything and do what will make him feel good. He can walk out after and never speak to Louis Tomlinson ever again, act like nothing ever happened, but he can’t walk away from this opportunity. He just can’t. Because Louis is right. Harry does look at Louis in a less-than-platonic way, even if he denies it himself. And Louis standing there, offering himself to Harry, it’s too good to pass up. 

A few more seconds pass, and then Harry finally makes his decision. “Fuck it,” he says, and then lunges at Louis, closing the distance between them and pushing Louis up against the opposite wall. His hands land on Louis' shoulders, sliding down to grip his wrists and pull them up to where they’re pinned against the wall. Their eyes lock for a moment, both breathing heavy, Louis’ little smirk returning, his eyes wide with a bit of surprise. “Show me what you can do, Harry Styles,” he whispers, running his tongue along his lower layer of teeth. Harry blink, his eyes searching Louis', before he narrows them, letting go of Louis' arms harshly and spinning them around, simultaneously pushing Louis down to his knees. 

“No, you little shit,” he says, his anger returning for some reason, only arousing him more. “Show me what you’ve got,” Louis looks up at Harry, eyelashes fluttering as his hands trail up his jeans, headed towards his crotch. “Do you want me to taste you?” he asks, his voice and expression so innocent, so wrong for the situation. Harry falters, moaning unconsciously at Louis' dirty words, shaking his head a bit. “Such a slut,” he mutters, his hands tangling themselves in Louis' hair, gripping it tight as Louis undoes his jeans, pushing them down gently. He hears little giggles exiting Louis' mouth as his briefs are pulled down, and suddenly he’s completely exposed to the person he hates most in this world. His eyes flicker down after not really feeling anything satisfying, and he blushes as he sees Louis' eyes are wide, his mouth slightly parted as he takes in the size of Harry. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs, suddenly wrapping his hand around Harry’s length, giving it a gentle squeeze. Harry lets out an obscene groan at that, his grip tightening on Louis' hair, unconsciously pulling him forward, harshly, to where the tip of his erection meets Louis’ lips, and he feels a surge of ecstasy center around his groin at the slight contact. Louis doesn’t move away from where he is now, chuckling lowly against the tip of Harry’s cock, the vibrations sending waves down his length, only teasing him further. “Needy,” he says, and then without warning, he wraps his lips around Harry’s cock, and goes completely down on him, all the way until Harry can feel himself hit the back the sophomore’s throat, wherein he then swallows, causing such a rush of pleasure to ensue that Harry feels his knees buckle, and he cries out, slumping against the wall. Louis hooks his arms behind Harry, supporting his thighs and keeping him from falling as he begins to bob his head up and down on Harry’s length. 

The waves of pleasure that are rolling over Harry are enough to make him forget all his hatred for Louis, and just focus on the feeling of his mouth on his cock, sucking and licking, his hands supporting him, everything so overwhelming it’s becoming difficult for Harry to even think straight, or form words. Louis tilts his head, experimenting with new angles, before pulling his mouth completely off of Harry. Harry whimpers at the loss of contact, before opening his eyes and narrowing them, about to scold Louis for stopping his ministrations, when he leans down his head and licks a stripe up the length of Harry’s arousal, stopping at the top to swirl his tongue over the slit, swallowing the pre-cum that had gathered. Harry’s hands slip from Louis' hair to settle on his shoulder as Louis removes one hand to wrap around Harry’s shaft, pumping it a few times, tapping the head against his outstretched tongue. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks, lips moving against the head of Harry’s erection. “Fuck,” Harry moans, as Louis presses a kiss to the tip. He’s breathing heavily, a shiny layer of sweat covering his entire body as he feels his muscles begin to contract with the approach of his high. “Suck, slut,” he says simply, shoving Louis’ head roughly back at his crotch, sliding easily back into the boy’s mouth, where he proceeded to suck, laughing around his cock lightly. Harry groans again, his orgasm fast approaching, his nails digging harshly into Louis' shoulders as he begins to thrust into his mouth, meeting him in the middle. He can feel himself repeatedly hitting the back of Louis' throat, but he has to give it to the kid, he doesn’t gag once. 

His thrusts increase to the point where he’s practically fucking Louis’ mouth, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind, his hands leaving Harry’s legs to slip under his shirt and run over the expanse of his torso, exploring the valley between his abs and circling his nipples. But Harry can hardly focus on that, because he can feel himself about to come, his vision blurring as he yanks Louis' head down on his length completely, and cries out as he finally comes, all down the back of Louis' throat. “L-Louis!” he cries out, unsure why his mind decided to vocally express his orgasm in the form of Louis' name, but not caring whatsoever, his body wracking with waves of intense pleasure as he comes. Louis is a good boy, taking all of it, swallowing around Harry’s cock, before finally leaning away and falling to sit on his heels, reaching a hand up to lazily wipe his mouth, licking his lips obscenely. “Mmm,” he says, smirking up at Harry, who is refusing to make eye contact, catching his breath as he pulls his pants back up, buttoning them. 

Louis perks up an eyebrow as he stands up, crossing his arms as he stares at Harry, who pushes his hair out of his, before finally settling his eyes on Louis. “What?” he asks, the irritation already returning now that he’s down from his high. A flash of hurt crosses Louis’ features for a split-second, before being replaced by a sickeningly sweet smile, which throws Harry off-guard, particularly the brief instance of pain he saw. He hasn’t seen Louis hurt before, but for some reason, he really doesn’t like it. Especially if he’s the one causing it. But he doesn’t get a chance to address it, because Louis speaks up. “Go on, leave, I’ll just stay and take care of myself,” he says, before leaning into Harry’s ear. “I’ll think of you when I do,” he whispers, before leaning back and winking at Harry, moving behind him and giving him a gentle push towards the door. 

Harry walks a few steps, thoroughly confused and once again somewhat turned on, the gears in his mind churning as he puts a hand on the doorknob. His eyes narrow for a moment, before he’s hit with a spark of confidence and inhibition, and he turns around, this time the smirk on his own face, his eyes alight with seduction. 

“Or,” he says, dropping his hand from the doorknob. “Or?” Louis replies, perking up an eyebrow, his eyes glistening with renewed lust. Harry hesitates a bit, his mind warning him that this was a bad idea, that it was a really bad idea, but at the same time urging him to go forward with it. Just do it. Just do him. When would he ever get the opportunity to fuck the brains out of his enemy? Probably never. Because after this, Harry’s going to have to stay as far away from Louis Tomlinson as physically possible. He’s going to maybe even transfer schools to achieve it, but right now, right now he’s going to what his body wants him to do. 

Louis continues to stare at him, slowly pulling his lower lip between his teeth and sucking on it, teasing Harry. Harry’s eyes darken as he takes a deep breath, feeling his cock begin to harden again despite having just come down from his high. Louis just has that much of an effect on him. “Bend over the counter,” Harry orders, pointing at the panel of faux marble. Louis' eyes widen for a split-second, before his expression melts into a sultry, arrogant one. “Yes, daddy,” he whispers, and Harry feels his cheeks heat up, before he shakes his head, walking up and forcibly shoving Louis towards the counter, bending him at the waist. “Don’t call me that,” he says, even though a small part of him kind of liked the dirty nickname. But no, he doesn’t want Louis to give him a nickname. He wants Louis to give him an orgasm. Another one. He hears Louis chuckle as he pushes him further down, one hand on the back of his neck, the other groping at his ass, feeling his cheeks through his jeans. 

“Are you going to teach me a lesson, Mr. Styles?” he asks, locking eyes with Harry through the mirror. They’re hazy with lust, a still as arrogant as always. Harry feels a surge of frustration towards the younger boy at yet another nickname, and he moves his hand further up Louis’ neck to the top of his head, where he pushes down, grinding Louis' cheek into the countertop. Louis moves his arms to grip the underside of the counter as Harry angrily shoves Louis’ jeans down, letting them fall on their own, yanking his Calvin Kleins right after. 

He can see the slight smirk coating Louis' features, and it only frustrates Harry further, that he can be so submissive and yet still so infuriating. Harry’s right in hating him, he’s decided. Harry removes his hand from Louis' head, slightly surprised when he doesn’t immediately lift it. He notices how heavily Louis is breathing, and for a split-second he feels a bit bad for treating him so roughly. However, that feeling quickly disappears as Louis pushes back against Harry’s hand that had been kneading his cheeks, causing Harry’s hand to slip right where Louis wanted it to, and Harry narrows his eyes at the movement. He’s the one in charge, how dare Louis try and speed things up. 

He quickly removes his hand and brings it down harsh on Louis' skin, the obscene sound of skin-hitting-skin filling the room. “Ah!” Louis cries out, lurching forward at the contact. “Don’t try and take control, Tomlinson,” Harry scolds, leaning over Louis to where his lips are hovering just above the Brit’s ear. Louis whimpers, his sarcastic expression momentarily fading as he nods obediently. “Good boy,” Harry replies softly, dragging a hand down Louis' back and settling it on his other cheek, deciding to cut the boy some slack, but mostly for his own sake, because he doesn’t know how long he can resist, what with Louis all spread out for him. “Have you before?” he asks, his voice suddenly a bit paternal. Almost instantly, the sultry expression is back as Louis wiggles his ass, and his eyebrows. “With more people than you can count on your pretty little fingers,” he says, licking his lips. 

Harry feels a rush of lust pool in his stomach at the images flashing though his head, of other people—students and teachers alike—taking Louis, perhaps in this very bathroom. Along with the rush, however, he also feels a blinding flash of anger. “Such a slut,” he replies, before sticking two fingers in his mouth and sucking on them harshly, until they were properly lubricated with his saliva. “Your slut, daddy,” Louis hisses, and Harry eyes narrow at the nickname once again. He roughly spreads Louis' legs, and slips a wetted finger past the tight ring of muscle, avoiding the area that he knows feels good. Don’t ask how he’s so educated in the mechanics of gay sex, okay. He just is. “Don’t. Call. Me. That,” he says through gritted teeth, pumping his finger in and out with each syllable. 

Louis moans quite loudly, one hand leaving the countertop to press against the mirror, leaving a sweaty handprint in its place. Harry roughly pushes his damp hair out of his eyes as he adds a second finger, curling it slightly to brush over Louis' prostate, earning a rather delicious moan from the younger boy. “You ready?” he asks after a few more minutes of finger fucking Louis. Louis lifts his head, panting, his eyes black with lust. He still manages to smile mischievously, thrusting back against Harry’s fingers. “Stick it in me, Haz,” he says. This time, Harry ignores the nickname, swiftly removing his fingers and his pants, his hand wrapping around his cock as it hits the cool air. He gives it a few strokes before suddenly pausing. He doesn’t have a condom. And he certainly isn’t going to have unprotected sex, it’s already a bad choice having sex at all, but he isn’t going to risk getting a disease because of it. If what Louis said is true, he could be carrying any number of sexually transmitted diseases. For some reason, Harry highly doubts that, but he wants to be safe. But he also really wants to get off. 

He’s about to scream in frustration when Louis lifts a hand, waving a shiny red object in the air. “Rule number one to being a slut, always carry condoms,” he says, licking his lower lip. Harry stares at it for a minute, before snatching it up and tearing it open. Louis settles back onto the countertop, his chest rising and falling in what Harry can only assume is anticipation, and in that moment, he allows himself to truly appreciate how pretty Louis is, with his light, dusty hair, and his slender body, and his eyes, even the state they’re in right now. It’s really no surprise he gets so much dick, looking like that, and with that attitude nonetheless. 

Harry rolls the condom onto his straining cock, and then lines himself up with Louis’ entrance, taking a deep breath, his hands going to grip Louis' hips. He presses his tip against Louis’ hole, and then with a gentle roll of his hips, he breaches him, pushing past the tight inner ring and groaning at the feeling of being surrounded by such warmth and tightness. “Shit, Haz,” Louis murmurs, lowering his head onto the counter and breathing loudly. Spurred by Louis’ words, Harry increases the pace, sinking almost fully into Louis, who adjusts incredibly quickly. He wasn’t lying when he said he’s not a virgin. Harry, however, hasn’t experienced anything quite like this before. He’d had sex with a girl before, but nothing compared to this. He’s gay. If this doesn’t confirm the fact, he doesn’t know what will. 

Being surrounded by Louis, his muscles clenching and unclenching around his cock, it’s literal ecstasy, a feeling that causes Harry’s eyes to roll into the back of his head, his nails digging into Louis' hips as he pulls out slightly, only to roll his hips back and thrust into Louis, causing his body to lurch forward, his other hand flying to brace himself against the mirror. Harry can see his expression through the glass, and it only turns him on further, that mixed look of both desperation but also sultry sassiness. Louis’ eyes lock with Harry’s, and he smirks a bit more, as Harry roughly fucks into him, causing his body to jerk forward again, his curls bouncing in front of his forehead. “Fuck me,” he moans, his fingers curling into fists. 

Harry groans at Louis’ low, tremulous voice, and speeds up his thrusts, making them faster and harder, his hips jerking almost sporadically as he lets his body take over. He can feel himself growing close, the feeling incomparable to even the earlier blowjob. Everything is fogging over with lust as his mouth parts, his breaths coming out in short, little gasps. “Harry,” Louis whines, dragging a hand down the mirror, which had fogged up, leaving an obscene handprint dripping down. “Shut up,” Harry says, pinching Louis’ hip. Louis lets out a cry of pleasure as he buries his head in his arms, keeping his mouth shut. Both boys breathing increases as Harry feels Louis' muscles begin to contract around his dick, and he groans in pleasure. 

The ringing of Louis’ phone about gives both boys a heart attack, Louis' head snapping up just as Harry’s hips stutter to a stop, and he immediately feels his heart drop into his stomach at the thought of being caught. However, it doesn’t take long for him to realize it’s just someone calling Louis, but it still frustrates him. “Who is that?” he barks, unreasonably angry yet again. He could still feel his high lingering, his cock twitching inside of Louis, his hips badly wanting to thrust forward again. Louis reaches over and grabs his phone, checking the caller ID. “It’s Niall,” he pants. “Answer it,” Harry says, suddenly turned on at the thought of having to keep quiet. Or rather, at the thought of Louis keeping quiet. He’s the more vocal one, after all. 

“What?” Louis asks, genuine surprise in his tone. Completely gone is his nonchalant, arrogant attitude, an embarrassed, shocked one taking its place. Harry, irritated, yanks Louis up from the countertop, his back colliding with Harry’s chest, the new angle sending Harry’s cock straight into Louis' prostate, resulting in a very satisfying moan of approval from Louis. “Answer it,” Harry hisses into Louis' ear, one hand moving around Louis' front to rest on his stomach, the other looping under his arm to grip his shoulder. “Do it!” he repeats. “Oh-okay!” Louis answers, swallowing, a bit of nervousness detectable. Harry smirks this time at finally finding something that actually intimidates Louis, and he begins to move his hips again, thrusting upward, directly into Louis’ sweet spot. 

“H-hello?” Louis answers, trying his best to keep his voice somewhat steady, but Harry can tell it’s pretty obvious, and he chuckles lowly at the situation Louis is currently in. “Of course I’m not in class, Niall,” Louis pants, his face screwing up as his other hand lands on top of Harry’s, clutching at it. Harry can’t hear what Niall is saying, but part of him hopes that Niall can hear what’s happening on this end of the line. Then maybe he’d have something to tease Louis about for the rest of his high school career. “Because, I’m just n—ah!” Louis cries out as Harry lands a particularly harsh thrust into his ass. At the movement, Louis' fingers move to slide between Harry’s, holding his hand tightly. While Harry usually would oppose to that, he figures he can let Louis get away with the small gesture considering all that he’s risking right now. Harry isn’t that cruel. 

“Wrap it up,” he whispers into Louis' ear, suddenly bored with the risk-taking. He just wants to come at this point, and he knows Louis does too, he can see the way his erection is straining, just by glancing downward. “Niall, I have to go,” Louis says, his voice shaky and very unsteady. Harry’s eyes glance to meet look at Louis in the mirror, and he has to hold back a bout of laughter as he sees Louis rolls his eyes, even in his current state. “I’ll see you in c-class,” he says, and then he lowers the phone, hanging up and dropping it on the counter. Harry chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss to Louis' neck for some reason, his other hand gripping Louis' body tighter as he makes to settle back down on the counter. No, Harry likes him standing. 

“That was hot,” he whispers. Louis throws his head back to rest on Harry’s shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m close,” he pants, his hand that isn’t holding Harry’s reaching down to wrap around his length. “Me too,” Harry replies, already beginning to feel his muscles contract as Louis gets closer to his high as well. Louis begins to moan profusely as he strokes his cock with a closed fist, his body beginning to shake against Harry, who has to put more effort into supporting him as he fucks up into him, his body practically bouncing up and down at the pressure. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Louis says, more obscene noises spilling from his mouth as he comes all over the counter, some of it landing on the mirror, streaks of white. That’s all it takes for Harry to come too, following right after, coming hard into the condom as Louis clenches around him, groaning loudly, burying his face in Louis' shoulder and squeezing his hand so tightly he probably cuts off circulation. 

He slumps against Louis, who lurches forward and braces the two of them against the counter, finally letting go of Harry’s hand and taking a deep breath. Harry quickly slips out of Louis, who arches his back and squeezes his thighs together at the loss of contact. Harry quickly removes the condom and disposes of it, pulling up his pants and sliding down the wall to sit on the floor and regain his composure. Louis stays slumped over the counter for a moment, breathing heavily, before hiking up his jeans and cleaning up the counter, and washing his hands. Harry stares up at him, wondering what’s about to happen next. 

Louis stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, fixing his hair, which annoys Harry, the way he’s able to revert so quickly back to his same old same old persona, despite the events that just took place. After a few seconds, Louis turns to face Harry. He looks down at him for a moment, before smirking, crossing his arms as he settles his weight on his left leg. “Well, that was fun,” he says, and then his eyes narrow a bit as he backs up to the door, unlocking it without looking. Harry watches him, a bit mesmerized almost, unable to say anything in response to his next words. “If you’re interested, I’ll be sure to hide from Niall again the same time tomorrow,” he says, and then he winks at Harry, opening the door and slipping out, just like that.

He misses the entirety of his calculus class, but if he’s being completely honest to himself, he can’t care less. His mind is occupied with thoughts of one thing alone. Or rather, one person. Conflicting images flash through his head, accompanied by even more conflicting emotions, and it’s overall an exhausting rollercoaster and Harry wants off. He feels like his mind is doing loop-the-loops, while his heart is racing forward at a staggering sixty miles per hour. Perhaps he’s slightly overreacting, but given the situation, I think it’s safe to say that his reaction is to be expected. 

He had sex. With a boy he hated. In the school bathrooms. He may have been the one to call Louis a slut, but he was just as much a slut as him, if not even more. He had taken a sophomore boy in a building where everyone knew his face, and how could he trust Louis not to say anything? What if he walks out of the bathroom right now, and dozens of students were waiting to ambush him, with Louis at the lead? Louis doesn’t have anything to worry about, he’s embraced his reputation as the ‘slut of the school’, but Harry? Harry has a rather different reputation. 

Everyone has a positive disposition towards him. Harry Styles, the outstanding senior of West Monroe high school, editor of the school paper, best friend to Liam Payne and Lou Teasdale, on his way to New York or maybe even Paris, he has the highest reputation. He isn’t known for fucking boys in school bathrooms. At least not until now. The thought of everyone knowing that he had sex at the school—with a boy nonetheless—makes Harry’s stomach turn and his vision go momentarily blurry. He hates Louis Tomlinson, he has made that one fact very clear. He hates him with every ounce of his being, and he absolutely positively cannot be associated with him in any way whatsoever. 

He supposes he can talk to him, search him out in the hallways after school—he does enjoy hanging out behind the stagecraft room with his best friend mary jane—but then Harry stops himself as a particularly interesting thought comes to mind. As was aforementioned, Louis’ known across campus as the ‘school slut’, always whispered about, always pulling stares when he walks down the hallways, he’s famous in the worst way possible, not that being infamous seems to bother him at all. But that’s not what Harry finds interesting all of a sudden. 

He hardly ever crosses paths with Louis—he makes a point to hate him from a distance—but he is privy to the gossip surrounding him. However, amidst all that juicy gossip, there are never any names. Only descriptions of such perverted activities, and of course Louis' name, but never a companion is identified. As Harry thinks about the rumors surrounding Louis, he can’t attach a single other soul to them. He doesn’t know if that’s just coincidence, or maybe he just isn’t paying close enough attention to what is being passed along in the hushed murmurs, but if he’s right in his assumptions, it means that Louis is both more considerate than he ever imagined, and that he also has nothing to worry about. 

If Louis doesn’t ‘kiss and tell’ to use an overused cliche, then certainly that rule holds up for Harry, too. After all, why should Harry think himself any different than the supposedly numerous people Louis has hooked up with? The answer is simple. He shouldn’t think himself any different. As painful as it is to level himself with those low enough to sleep with the likes of Louis Tomlinson, he does it, because he did it, and then he convinces himself to finally leave the bathroom and act as if everything is perfectly fine. Because it is fine. As soon as he walks through that door, he will go back to hating Louis Tomlinson like normal, and he will pretend that whatever just took place in the fine arts bathrooms didn’t actually happen. 

He checks his reflection in the mirror, thankful that he hadn’t let the little shit’s hands near his hair, giving it a single swoop to left before taking a deep breath and opening the bathroom door, slinging his backpack over his shoulders and making his face look as innocently normal as possible. Thankfully, it’s now between classes, and Harry’s able to slip easily into the crowd of drama students, walking against the flow towards the science classrooms, where hopefully the inane chatter of his chemistry teacher will help distract him from the thoughts he’s so desperately trying to block out of his mind. 

Thankfully, being two grades apart, the only time Harry ever really sees Louis is at lunchtime and before and after classes in the parking lot on the days he isn’t doing other, less-appropriate things than leaving school. Harry supposes he can just ignore Louis when he does see him, because he doesn’t have any reason to interact with him, because there’s nothing between them. Nothing at all. And so that’s what he’s going to do. He’s just going to act like nothing has changed between them. Because nothing has. 

He walks into chemistry with the same expression he always wears when he walks into his chemistry class, weaving through the few stragglers by the door and pulling himself up onto his stool, grabbing his textbook and homework from yesterday and sitting them neatly on the table. There’s no lab equipment out, which means today’s class is a lecture, which Harry doesn’t really mind, but he kind of wishes he has something larger to distract himself, but no worries, as his best friend has just arrived, and that should help immensely. 

Liam collapses onto his stool with a loud sigh, tossing his entire backpack up onto the lab table as he unzips it, plunging an arm in elbow-deep, searching for who-knows-what in that labyrinth of a book bag. Harry watches with amused eyes as Liam scrunches his eyebrows in concentration, feeling around in his bag with his fingers. A few seconds later, his eyes widen and a satisfied grin spreads across his face as he finds what he was looking for. “Gotcha!” he exclaims, revealing a stubby little pencil covered in the crumbs that had settled in the bottom of Liam’s bag. “You could’ve just asked me for a pencil, stupid,” Harry teases. Liam rolls his eyes, brushing off the pencil and shoving his bag out of his way, the table bare in front of him. “You only have pens, Haz, and I make too many mistakes for pens,” he says, his eyes sliding up to meet Harry’s. 

As they make eye contact, Harry feels a sudden rush of nerves. Liam has always had a rather piercing gaze, the kind that made you want to spill all of your secrets to him, which hadn’t ever been a problem for Harry, because he never had any secrets Liam didn’t know about. Not until now. Harry tries to keep his face as smooth as possible as he looks at Liam. “Don’t hate on my pens, they’re sensitive,” he jokes back, smiling and hoping it doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. Liam’s eyes search him for a brief moment, before he laughs, shaking his head and looking away from Harry. Harry laughs along with Liam, doing his best to push down the unnecessary and pathetic nerves. Liam doesn’t know anything, and he wouldn’t ever jump to such drastic conclusions based off of one suspicious look. 

“Are you doing anything after class today?” he asks, deciding to fill the one-sided awkward space with some small talk. He obviously doesn’t plan on it backfiring, but as luck would have it, today it seems to be that everything is against him, even his best friend unknowingly. “Yeah,” Liam sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes with closed fists. “Student council has our big quarter-year meeting tonight,” Harry’s heart stutters just a bit at the indirect reference to Louis, but he ignores it, asking a quick follow-up question. “Oh yeah? What’s going to happen?” he asks, somewhat curious in actuality. Liam sighs again, clearly disinterested in the topic as he puts his glasses back on and sits up straighter. “The seniors are all assigned an underclassmen to take under their wing for the rest of the year, and seeing as I’m the student activities director, I’m paired up with the junior student activities director,” he stops there, eyes flicking up from under his glasses to look at Harry. 

Harry looks back at him, confused, raising his eyebrows slightly. “And who is that?” he prompts. Liam stares at him for a moment longer, before giggling slowly and reaching out a hand to tap it on top of Harry’s hand. The touch sends a signal to Harry’s brain about the last person who touched him there and—“Your favorite person in the entire world, Louis Tomlinson,” he replies, the giggles turning into laughter as Harry groans, pulling his hand away and rolling his eyes, swiveling around on his stool. “I do feel bad for you,” he says, falling seamlessly into his old routine of hating Louis Tomlinson. It feels a bit comforting, the sense of normalcy, makes Harry feel as if any suspicions Liam may have been harboring disappear with his words. 

At the same time though, Harry can’t help but be transported back to just mere minutes ago in the bathrooms, the images, the noises, and the feelings all rushing back at once, hitting him just as powerfully as his orgasm had. Oh dear. He can’t help it, he’s an eighteen-year-old boy, and he’ll admit that he had never quite felt anything like what he felt with Louis, physically. The memories cause his mouth to water slightly with desire, and so he quickly compensates by probably talking way too much. 

“Honestly, if I had to spend more than two seconds with Louis, I’d probably want to kill myself,” he says, laughing more as he presses his hands flat on the lab table and drags them back, admiring the streaks his finger prints leave behind. Liam laughs slightly, giving Harry a strange look, but Harry doesn't quite see it, as he’s too busy hating Louis. “He’s just, he’s like a rat, you know? Who’s that skinny? Or that pale? And his attitude, don’t even get me started on his fucking arrogant, sassy attitude,” he continues on, his face heating up as the hatred boils up inside him. And though he may not realize it, this hatred is a bit different than before. Because this hatred actually has some baseline. Where before Harry’s hatred towards Louis was based solely on what he observed, it’s now based on experience. 

Harry hates Louis more now for what he did to him. He took advantage of him. Sure, Harry let him, sure Harry was the one who was in control, sure, he could’ve said no, but that’s not the point. The point is that him sleeping with Louis Tomlinson has only made him hate him more, and so it can’t have been all bad. At least he got an orgasm out of it, like an added bonus. 

“Harry!” Liam suddenly cries, cutting of Harry’s ranting. Harry, breathing heavily, turns to look at Liam, a bit surprised at the outburst. “What?” he says, wondering if he accidentally interrupted the beginning of the lecture or something. “Is everything okay? You seem to be extra riled up about Louis today,” Liam asks, raising his eyebrows. Where before Harry had only thought he had seen suspicion in Liam’s eyes, now he definitely sees it. And it terrifies him. He swallows nervously, maintaining eye contact no matter how badly he wants to look away. “I’m always extra riled up about Louis, but I’m sorry, I’ll shut-up now,” he mumbles quickly, before turning to face forward, pulling his homework towards him. As he pretends to double-check his answers, he can feel Liam’s gaze burning holes into his side, but he ignores him until he eventually sighs, and the class starts. 

Harry is smart, and he knows that no matter what his instincts are telling him to do—get as far away from Liam and his suspicious eyes as possible—he can’t listen to them. If he wants Liam to let go of any theories he may already be concocting, he has to act like everything is normal. And what wouldn’t be normal would be not walking to his locker with Liam to put away his books, so despite how suddenly numb his feet are, he makes the walk. Liam chatters along aimlessly about how he never quite understands what their chemistry teacher is getting at, while Harry just stares at his shoes, wrinkling his nose at how badly they clash with the white of the tiles that lined the hallways of his school. 

The two stop at their lockers, Harry maintaining his silence as he unlocks the metal contraption, letting it swing open, revealing pictures of his family and his friends, along with a few pieces of blackout poetry that are probably the cheesiest thing in existence, but Harry likes them. He quietly puts his textbooks away, grabbing the folders he needs to take home, before shutting his locker and turning the combination lock a few times for good measure. Liam turns to face Harry, exhaling softly as he smiles, clutching his student council folder to his chest. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, his eyes twinkling. Harry nods, folding his lips together as he sways slightly on his feet. His gaze, which had fallen, lifts to meet Liam’s again, and he notices that Liam’s eyes have narrowed just a bit, but he doesn’t say anything, just smiling again, before turning around and heading off in the direction of the student council classroom. 

Harry waits a few beats, before letting his face fall as he spins around, winding his scarf around his neck as he braces himself for the blistering cold that is the pacific northwest in November. He lets the cold distract him however, as he makes the long walk to his car—parked at the very end of the lot due to his late schedule—the stinging in his cheeks keeping his mind from wandering too far. He just wants to get in his car, crank up the heat and his music, and go home. When he gets home, he’s going to do his homework, and perhaps even start on some of his projects early. After he takes a shower. Yeah, he needs to take a shower first. Wash off everything that isn’t supposed to be on his body. 

He wonders if he smells like him. Like Louis. With a groan, he realizes that he probably does. He just hopes that Liam isn’t too attuned to what Louis Tomlinson smells like. Otherwise it’s going to be a lot harder to erase any suspicions he may have. If he has any. Harry may be overthinking the entire thing. 

***

You know that old saying, where when you buy a car you suddenly start seeing it everywhere? Harry has taken that saying, and applied it to himself and Louis Tomlinson. Where before he only saw him maybe two or three times a day, he’s now seeing Louis all over the place. In the parking lot in the morning, in the hallways, loitering outside of his classes, in the cafeteria, everywhere. And while he isn’t necessarily alone—he’s almost always surrounded by boys and girls alike—he still winds up in Harry’s path, and Harry isn’t okay with that. It’s been three days since the encounter in the bathroom, and he is keeping up with his ‘pretending nothing happened’ philosophy pretty well. But seeing Louis all of the time isn’t helping. Especially not with all the sultry eye contact he seems to enjoy initiating. It’s not that Harry ever looks his way, it’s just by accident, and Louis almost always seems to catch him in the act. 

And when he does, his eyes narrow into a mischievous little expression, while his mouth tilts up in a smirk. It makes Harry seethe and glare at him, pressing his lips into a tight line and turning promptly around in the other direction, even it means taking the long way. Whatever it takes to avoid him. It’s like he’s purposely going out of his way to stalk Harry, to be a constant reminder that what happened actually happened, and that no matter how hard Harry tries, he won’t be able to forget it. He supposes he should be flattered that Louis isn’t just tossing him to the side like the others, but he isn’t. He wants to be like the others, the ones who get a nice orgasm and then get off scot-free, no further interaction. Harry isn’t the one who’s obsessing, it’s Louis. 

“It’s like he’s stalking me or something,” he says one day at lunch. Lou swallows her food before resting her chin in her hand. “But like how?” she asks, scrunching her face in mock concern. Harry ignores the obvious teasing as he pokes at his salad, brow furrowed. He can feel Liam’s eyes on him too, and he hates how he suddenly feels like he’s being interrogated when in reality all he wants to do is bitch to his best friends about his worst enemy. The fact that he had sex with said worst enemy shouldn’t affect that. “I just have been seeing him in places that I don’t usually see him,” he explains, stabbing a tomato with his plastic fork and bringing it to his mouth. He looks up as he chews, staring at Lou, who shares a glance with Liam, before sitting up straight and crossing her arms casually. “Okay, where have you seen him?” she prompts. 

Harry swallows before answering, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as he thinks back. “Um, the hallways, outside of the library, the cafeteria, those places,” he lists, counting them off on his fingers as he goes. He keeps his eyes lifted for a moment, confused when he doesn’t get an immediate answer from either Lou or Liam. He lowers his gaze, looking back and forth between Liam and Lou, raising his eyebrows just a little bit. “Um, well, those aren’t exactly unusual places for him to be, Haz,” Lou finally says, her expression slightly pained, as if she’s afraid to cross Harry. Harry’s eyes immediately narrow as a comeback bubbles up on his lips, instantly wanting to go on the defensive, backtrack and say that that’s not what he meant, that it is unusual for Louis to be in those places, but before he can get a word out, Liam stops him, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“Harry, did something happen between you and Louis? You’ve been acting really strange about him since Monday, more than usual,” he asks, his voice annoyingly paternal. Harry instantly snaps his head to glare at Liam, accusatory, shrugging his hand off roughly. “No! That’s ridiculous, and I don’t know why you think I’d ever find myself in a situation Louis Tomlinson, so just stop wondering!” he practically shouts, halfway out of his seat by the end. Liam’s eyes are wide and shocked, staring up at Harry as he leans back in his chair away from him. 

Harry stays glaring at Liam, nostrils flaring dramatically, for a few more seconds, before turning around and grabbing his tray, shoving away from his chair and stomping away. He deposits his trash into the bins before slamming his tray down and stomping the rest of the way out of the cafeteria, ignoring all the glances his way. He knows that he probably shouldn’t have shouted, but he couldn’t help it. He’s just frustrated, overwhelmed, overflowing with hatred for Louis, and he needed to let out some steam. Perhaps he should have done it somewhere less populated, but what’s done was done. 

The hallways are empty as Harry navigates through them, his vision outlined red with anger, hating everything. Hating Louis, hating Liam, hating himself. He shouldn’t have slept with Louis Tomlinson. It’s only been three days, and already Harry’s entire being has been consumed with thoughts of him, despite his philosophy. He can’t block him out, he just can’t. All he does is think about him, in the most innocent and dirty sense, and he hates that. He hates that he can’t even think of Louis without getting hard, that he can’t think about him without picturing that day in the bathrooms and kind of wishing for it to happen again. He hates it. 

He winds up waiting outside the door for his next class—Advanced English Literature—propped against the wall, eyes shut lightly. He finds that closing his eyes and taking deep breaths helps calm his heart, so he focuses on that, trying his best to slow his mind down as well. He just needs to accept that the situation is what it is. He had sex with Louis Tomlinson, it happened. And in ten years, it won’t matter. They were safe, nobody caught them, it’s in the past now. If the only consequence is that he has to see Louis in more places than usual, then he supposes he can deal with that. It’s not like Louis' actually going out of his way to talk to Harry, so it isn’t as bad as Harry has been making it out to be. 

Let’s face it, he’s been a whiny, pathetic, annoying little shit ever since the incident, and if he’s growing tired of his own antics, than it’s guaranteed that his friends are fed up with him. It was one time. That’s it. Harry has to accept that, and just move the fuck on. No use lingering on what cannot be changed. Louis Tomlinson is just a boy. A boy who doesn’t even deserve the time that Harry is dedicating to hating him. He doesn’t deserve anything. Especially the satisfaction of seeing Harry get all worked up over him. Especially not that. 

And so Harry vows that as soon as he opens his eyes, his just going to ignore Louis. He’s not going to bitch about him to Liam, he’s not going to glare at him in the hallways, he just going to pretend like he doesn’t exist. Because he doesn’t deserve Harry’s attention. Because he doesn’t deserve any attention. 

Because fuck Louis Tomlinson. 

*one week later* 

His hand hit the tiles in an open palm, the water jumping out of the way, misting his face. His entire arm was extended as he braced himself against the wall of his shower, his head ducked low under the hot water, eyes squeezed shut to keep it out as he let the images flash through his mind. His mouth was open, hot breath fogging up the shower panes more than the steam, but no sounds came out. The only noises were the water hitting the surfaces, and if you listened close enough you could perhaps hear the pounding of his heart against his chest as time went on. 

His blunt fingernails clawed at the slippery wall as he used his other hand to run it up and down his slicked up, throbbing length. His legs were slightly parted, his calves straining as they were locked into place to keep him upright. The sensation of his hand combined with the hot running water and the thoughts of Louis were enough to successfully put him that blissful zone where the only thing that mattered was reaching that high. And he was close. He could feel it building inside his stomach, that pool of lust, and he brought his teeth down to bite on his lip as he let out the quietest groan, desperate to vocalize just a little bit. 

He sped up his hand movements, imagining that it was Louis' hand, that he was down on his knees right then, his breath hot on Harry’s cock, his sultry little blue eyes peering up at Harry as he smirked, his other hand moving up to suck on his own fingers as he got Harry off. He would squeeze the base of Harry’s length when he reached it, which Harry emanated with his own hand, letting out a gasp at the feeling, his knees buckling slightly as he got even closer. His hand that was pressed against the wall slid a bit, leaving a rather obscene handprint in its wake, not that Harry noticed it in that moment. He kept sliding his wet hand over his cock, running his fingers over the head, before rotating his wrist as he brought it back to his base, squeezing it, and repeating the motion, imagining it as Louis' hand the entire time. 

As he felt his muscles begin to contract, he immediately stood up straight, throwing his head back and sending splatters of water from his hair to the wall opposite him, the tendons in his neck standing out as he face clenched together in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, mouth halfway open. His hand fucked his cock at a rapid speed, and seconds later he stumbled a bit as he came, his back arching forward as he cried out his finish in the form of a name. “Ah, Louis!” he cried, his hand stuttering to a stop as he came in the shower, the stuff just joining the water down the drain. Harry instantly clapped a hand over his mouth at the outburst his eyes wide as he still slowly stroked his cock, chest rising and falling as he panted, catching his breath. 

His eyes were wide as he stood in the shower, staring at nothing. As soon as the orgasm wore off, Harry felt an intense feeling of shame overtake him. It burned his veins and twisted around his heart, and he let out a frustrated groan as he buried his face in his hands, shaking his head slightly as he stepped back under the stream. This wasn’t unusual, it’s kind of always how it went. He got off to thoughts of Louis, he felt guilty and ashamed afterward. He didn’t feel ashamed for Louis, he couldn’t care less about getting off to the thought of a person, no, that wasn’t it. It was the fact that it seemed like he was contradicting himself. He claimed that he didn’t want Louis like that, he claimed that he wasn’t going to let Louis get to him, that he wasn’t even going to pay attention to him, that he was going to pretend he didn’t exist, and yet, here he was. Here he was in his shower, screaming out his name as he came. That didn’t make any sense, did it? 

Harry supposed he shouldn’t get so worked up over it. It was in private, nobody would ever know except for him, so what did it matter? Or was that really what was bothering him? The more he thought about it, the less guilt he began to feel, and the more anger. That familiar anger that he reserved especially for Louis. It centered around his heart, and it spread from there all the way to his fingertips, lighting them. It was an almost exhausting anger, one that tired him out if dwelled on for too long, but it was an anger he associated with Louis exclusively. And he was feeling it now, as he rinsed his hair for the final time and shut the water off. As he stepped out into the cold air, grabbing his towel, he tried to figure out what it was exactly that was motivating it. 

It didn’t take a genius to get to the conclusion, and Harry glared at his reflection as he blow-dried his hair. He was angry because of the hold that Louis had over him. Despite Harry’s efforts to avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist—of which had actually been working the past week—he still found himself consumed with thoughts of Louis. He had made himself a part of Harry’s life, and Harry hated him for that. He hated himself for helping him achieve that. Is that what he did? Did he worm his way into someone’s life just to cause them grief? Is that why he slept with Harry? Was it all preconceived? The thought of Louis going out of his way to reign terror on Harry’s life seemed a bit far-fetched though, so he tossed that theory out the window as soon as he thought it over. 

He hadn’t done anything except hate Louis from a distance, Louis had no reason to make his life a living hell. That being said, he had still somehow succeeded in doing it. Harry let out a groan, shaking his hair out as he reached for his phone and put on some music. The voice of Matt Healy filled his ears, and managed to calm him down somewhat as he styled his hair and got the rest of the way ready for school, the thoughts of Louis fading to background as he sang along softly. 

He was in a fairly better mood once he got to the school, parking far in the back as always, and taking a deep breath before pulling his beanie over his ears and grabbing his thermos of coffee. He stepped out into the chilly air and hummed along to a melody only he knew, going along with the ‘click’ of his heels against the pavement. A few others with late schedules were scattered around the lot as well, their heads ducked to look at their devices, whereas Harry preferred to soak up the short five minutes of sun before he was shoved indoors and the only light he was receiving was from the harsh fluorescents. 

While it was cold, the sun was out and shining, and Harry smiled at it, his eyes squinted against it, and he knew he probably looked ridiculous, but that was okay. The sun always made him happy. But so did the moon. And the rain. Really any type of weather as long as there was variation made him happy. It uplifted him, made the daunting school day look a little less daunting. He’d have to go take a walk in a park after school today, if the sunshine held up. He gave it one final little glance before he walked through the doors and entered into the school, sighing a bit as his eyes adjusted to the difference in brightness. 

It was Friday, which meant that everyone in the school was anxious to leave, on edge, and distracted. Harry kind of fell in with them, but did manage to stay paying attention in his classes, as he had learned early on that the teachers at this school like to use the distraction to assign homework assignments and then only about a third of the students heard, and the rest received low scores. It was cruel but effective, and Harry—after having fallen victim a few times—had learned to always pay extra attention on Fridays especially. 

He did fine through his first three classes, spent lunch in the library studying for a physics test, and actually had a good time in gym, chasing Liam around with a tennis racket. He was sweaty and exhausted afterward, looking forward to going home, changing shirts, and go on that walk in the park. He hadn’t though of Louis at all that day, and he continued that on as he went to his locker, grabbing his homework and empty thermos, and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He had a slight spring to his step as he headed to the parking lot, his headphones were in, nothing could bring him down. 

He made it to the doors rather oblivious, really immersed in the music, and so he couldn’t only say sorry when he accidentally walked right into the back of Eleanor Calder, jolting her forward slightly. “Oh, sorry Eleanor!” he said, regaining his footing and gently grabbing Eleanor to steady her as well. “You’re okay, Harry,” she said brightly, flashing him a smile as she stood up straight, adjusting her backpack. She stood up on her tiptoes, her neck careening around the bunches of people stood in the doorway, blocking it. “Um, Eleanor,” Harry asked, standing up a bit taller too to try and see why people weren’t going to their cars. “What’s going on?” Eleanor shrugged her shoulders, hiking her backpack further up onto her shoulders as she continued to try and look around the people. Harry stood there a bit longer, growing impatient, before huffing and turning around. He knew a few shortcuts to circle around back to the parking lot, and he just hoped that they weren’t clogged as well. He put his headphones back and tried to get back in that good mood he was in just seconds ago, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking rather quickly, now eager to get off campus. 

He backtracked all the way to the fine arts hallway, where he took a sharp left, and wound up in the outside between the bus loop and the english building, directly next to the large garage door of the stagecraft room. It was wide open, the class having just left, and Harry didn’t see anybody lingering, so he quickly began to walk past it. However, before he even made it one stride, he stopped, because someone had made an appearance. Remember who liked to hang around the stagecraft building after school? Yep. And Harry hadn’t spoken to him since the encounter in the bathrooms. He was kind of wishing in that moment that he had just stayed with the ogling teenagers blocking the door to the parking lot. 

Louis walked around the corner, his eyes downcast, staring at the ground, as he pulled himself up to sit on the ledge surrounding the stagecraft building. His legs swung from it, just a few inches from the ground, and he sat back against the brick wall, lifting a hand to run it through his hair—quiffed today—his eyes lifted up to the sky as he brought what looked like a joint up to his lips, dragging on it slowly. He didn’t seem to notice Harry at first, just blowing smoke into the air and looking like the physical personification of sex—

Harry stopped staring then, cursing himself silently for doing so, immediately turning around and hoping to god that Louis just let him go. However, no such god answered his prayers, because not two seconds later, Louis' voice rang out. And it wasn’t necessarily the words he said, but the way he said them that made Harry stop. “Never thought I’d see you here, Styles,” he said, his voice loud and confident, and so nonchalant it made Harry want to rip his hair out. The way he addressed him, as if they were equals, as if they were ‘bros’, it infuriated Harry. He’d actually prefer the seductive tone of voice to this ‘I don’t give a fuck’ tone. 

He clenched his hands into fists, pressing his lips into a tight line before turning around, glaring at Louis. Louis was already looking at him, a slightly intrigued shimmer to his bright blue eyes, his mouth parted a bit, the joint resting on his bottom lip, held in place by his hand. He was leant forward now, back off of the wall, feet pressed flat against the bottom half of the wall to keep himself balanced. “I’m just trying to get to my car, Tomlinson,” he replied icily, figuring he’d go along with the only ‘last name’ bit too. Louis stared for a second, before scoffing, taking one last drag on his joint before tossing it to the ground. He followed it, hopping down from the ledge to press the blunt into the ground with his foot. When he looked back up, Harry felt his insides run cold as he saw that familiarly sultry look on his face. 

“I’m disappointed you haven’t come to talk to me since…,” Louis trailed off then, tilting his head slightly as his eyes glinted with seduction. He giggled a bit, before reaching a hand up to trace his own jawline. “Well, I’m sure you can remember,” he said, his voice velvety smooth. Harry felt his face heat up as he gulped, his knuckles white from the pressure he was putting on them. His mind raced as he tried to think of what to say to Louis, but like last time, his thoughts seemed to get all jumbled up, and he couldn’t manage to say anything. Louis continued to stare at him, a little smirk on his face, eyes narrowed, before he stepped closer to Harry, tilting his head the other way. 

“You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” he said suddenly, eyes widening, before a mischievous smile spread across his face. Harry’s own eyes widened as a rush of embarrassment and anger flooded through him and he immediately opened his mouth to protest. “No, I haven’t!” he retorted, his voice shaky, betraying him. Louis chuckled, looking at Harry as if the answer was so obvious. “You have,” he teased, circling his finger at Harry, before taking a few steps back and very blatantly raking his eyes up and down Harry’s body. Harry’s cheeks flushed again as he self-consciously crossed his arms in front of him. Louis' eyes flicked back up to meet Harry’s, and for a split-second Harry could have sworn he saw something closer to admiration flash across his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with that seductive little glimmer again. 

“Don’t be embarrassed Haz, I’ve been thinking about you ever since then too,” he said, sighing as he turned around and went back to sitting up on the wall, brushing the grit off of his hands. He looked over at Harry, the sultriness momentarily disappeared, actual curiosity decorating his face. “I’ve also been thinking about a proposition for you,” he remarked. Harry faltered, his anger subsiding at the rather serious tone Louis used. He didn’t seem to be trying to be slutty like always, he actually seemed to be trying to have a conversation with Harry. About what, Harry didn’t have any clue, but upon hearing the seriousness in Louis' voice and seeing it in his eyes, he was reminded that Louis was a person too, and that Harry wasn’t alone in this equation. 

And so he perked up one eyebrow, and crossed his arms very businesslike. “What kind of proposition?” he asked, hoping that it was one that result in a mutual agreement to stay out of each other’s way completely. Louis took a breath, crossing his arms before locking eyes with Harry. His gaze was rather piercing, nothing like what Harry was used to, and he felt strangely intimidated. Which was ridiculous because he was a senior and Louis was a sophomore but none the matter. It didn’t change the way he felt. “An agreement to…,” Louis spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “To satisfy the others needs, with no questions asked, and nobody will ever know,” He seemed to be finished then, closing his mouth as he waited for Harry’s reaction. 

The first thing Harry felt was confusion as he tried to decipher Louis' words. His brow furrowed as he ran through them in his head twice, only needing the twice run through for it to all click together. It wasn’t an explicit message but it wasn’t in code either. Harry’s eyes widened, his cheeks burning red as he realized just what Louis was offering. Basically an agreement for them to have sex. With each other. Whenever they wanted. No questions asked. His heart sped up as the implications of what that agreement would entail raced through his mind, and he was ashamed to say that his first reaction was to say yes. Unlimited sex with someone like Louis, no questions asked? Who wouldn’t want that? 

But Harry wasn’t a slut. He wasn’t the person who just used someone for their body. It was disgusting, and the fact that he was in a situation to even accept such an agreement made him sick to his stomach. Well, that was the second thing he felt. The first was an intense desire to say yes. What the fuck did that say about him? He looked at Louis, his expression shocked, and Louis looked back at him, his eyes searching his, not desperately, just curiously. “You mean like Fifty Shades Of Grey?” Harry blurted out, the words leaving his mouth before he was even able to truly realize what he had said. 

Louis blinked at him, before narrowing his eyes in confusion and leaning back, shaking his head. “No, not like Fifty Shades Of Grey,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, before snapping his head to look over at Harry again. “Have you even seen that movie?” he asked loudly. Harry hesitated, embarrassment running through him again, before he shook his head, stuttering a bit. “What? No, of c-course not!” he cried, the feeling of distress starting to creep up his back. He should just turn around and walk away. Leave this conversation. But he couldn’t. Because of the hold Louis had on him. Louis sighed again, jumping down from the ledge and walking back towards Harry, a strangely paternal look on his face. 

“There’s no contract involved, there won’t be any red rooms, just sex with no strings attached, and absolutely no feelings,” he said, emphasizing the last two words. His gaze turned firm with them, no traces of lust or mischief to be found. Harry gulped with intimidation again, before Louis continued on. “You have sexual frustrations, and so do I, and so I’m just offering you a proposal that is mutually beneficial to us,” he explained, in rather mature terms, which Harry had to admit he admired. Louis stayed staring at Harry for another beat, before he put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows. “This is a one time offer, Harry, not to be repeated,” he said, and then his face melted back into his normal sultry expression as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, lifting his chin just slightly. “I see the way you look at me, Harry, when you think I can’t see,” he whispered, his voice low. He took another step closer then, to where he was leaning in next to Harry’s ear, his hands resting at his sides. “It’s just sex, that’s all,” 

“Just sex? How is it just sex?” Harry replies, narrowing his eyes as Louis backs away, that sassy smirk still on his face. It falters just a bit as he processes Harry’s question, his eyes scrunching up in slightly confusion as he tilts his head. “Are you asking me to explain the logistics of it?” he says, before popping his eyebrows up once and looking down, shrugging his shoulders. “Okay, well first, I’d drag you back to the storage closet because it has a lock on the door, and then I’d unzip that fancy jacket that you’re wearing, and use your scarf to—,” 

“That’s not what I meant!” Harry cut Louis off, blinking rapidly and shaking his head in an attempt to get those images that have started to form out of his mind. He doesn’t want to think about sex, not right now, not when he’s trying to convince himself to turn down Louis' offer and just walk the hell away. He lifts a hand to hastily run it through his hair, his cheeks alight with blush as he carefully avoids Louis' eyes, which he can feel on him. He can hear Louis' little chuckle though as he drops his hand and purposely looks to the left of Louis. 

A few seconds pass, before Louis speaks again, a little laugh as a precursor. “Do you not want to know then?” he purrs, tilting his head, and not in a curious way this time. Harry can’t help himself, his eyes flicking over to meet with Louis' dark blue ones. He could feel his heart speed up as Louis runs his tongue over his bottom layer of teeth, standing up straight and taking a step closer to Harry again. “You really don’t want to know how I’d blindfold you with that scarf, and then drag my hand down your exposed chest, all the way down to that pretty cock of yours,” His voice is a whisper by now, his eyes hooded as he stands literal centimeters from Harry’s face, to the point where Harry can clearly make out his own reflection in Louis' lust-hazed eyes.

Harry swallows nervously, stepping backwards as his bottom lip trembles just a bit. “S-stop, Louis, I don’t want to hear this,” he says, eyes quickly scanning the area to make sure that nobody could see Louis advancing on him. He lifts one hand to clutch at his backpack as he continues stepping back, Louis following in front, the distance between them not changing at all. Louis giggles, pulling down his bottom lip with one finger, before letting it pop back into place, and repeating the action before speaking once again. “Oh, but Harry, I think you do want to hear this,” he responds, his eyes darting down to look at Harry’s crotch, where his body is betraying his words. “I think it’s making you hard,” Louis remarks, his eyes flitting back up to lock with Harry’s wide ones. 

He raises his eyebrows, licking his lips once. “Is it?” he asks, rather forcefully, the seductive tone lost for a moment. Harry, caught off-guard at the sudden switch in tone, hesitates, his breath catching in his throat. He feels his cheeks flush a deep red, to which Louis' firm expression melts back into his mischievous one, and he giggles. “Don’t worry, Haz, I’m hard too,” he whispers, before finally lifting a hand and grabbing one of Harry’s backpack straps and dragging him out of the open and into the stagecraft room, his eyes alight with lust the entire time, his teeth barely biting down on his lower lip as he stares seductively up at Harry through hooded eyes. Harry is too shocked to stop him, the arousal hazing over his brain as he lets Louis drag him to that storage closet with the lock. 

In the back of his mind he knows that this is exactly what he shouldn’t be doing, that he has been doing fairly well avoiding Louis and now, doing this, it’s going to make all that be for naught. He’ll have to start all the way over, he’ll have to repeat the process over. He isn’t sure he can do it a second time. Maybe he should accept that offer Louis had laid out. Or is this technically him saying yes? What if this is just Louis trying to convince him to say yes? Either way, it’s happening, and Harry is letting it happen, and he might as well enjoy the moment and worry later. You only live once, right? Harry doesn’t know if that applies to having sex in a storage closet with a boy two years younger than you but, like I said, he’s a little distracted at the moment. 

As soon as Louis pushes the door shut behind him, he spins Harry around, yanking his backpack off and shoving it to the side with his foot as he uses his upper body to press Harry against the door, his mouth instantly going for his neck, shoving the scarf to the side, his lips suctioning around the sensitive skin and sucking at it hard, lashing his tongue over it again and again. Harry moans at the feeling, his hands clawing at Louis' leather jacket, his cock throbbing in his jeans, ready to spring free. Louis continues giving Harry the hickey, his hands running up and down the sides of his torso, before leaning away, standing up straight and thumbing the mark once, nodding in satisfaction before sliding his eyes back up to lock with Harry’s in the grey light. 

He moves to where his body his pressed against Harry’s their bulges rubbing against each other as Louis expertly rolls his hips, causing Harry to arch his neck back and close his eyes, a low groan exiting his mouth. He flinches as he feels Louis' fingers on his lips, his eyes fluttering open. He’s slightly surprised to see Louis looking at his lips with an admiration almost, his expression thoughtful. “You have very pretty lips, Harry Styles, I never noticed before,” he murmurs, his eyes moving up to lock with Harry’s once again. They reflect not a lustful haze, but an almost—does Harry dare to think so?—loving one. Harry is a bit taken aback by it, not used to seeing it on Louis' face, but it doesn’t last very long, as Louis blinks and shakes his head slightly, startling Harry even further by leaning forward and crashing their lips together. 

They didn’t kiss during the last time, and so it’s a new feeling for Harry. That, and Harry hasn’t ever kissed a boy before. He had been ignoring the whole ‘gay’ thing ever since the incident in the bathroom, preferring to just not think about it at all, but now, as he is kissing Louis, their lips moving together in a dance almost, his mind instantly goes there. To thoughts of actually dating Louis, of being his boyfriend, of what that would be like. However, he is quickly pulled away from his thoughts as Louis nips at his bottom lip, causing Harry to gasp out and open his mouth, which Louis takes as the opportunity to shove his tongue inside Harry’s mouth and explore, licking into him with abandon, eliciting moan after moan after moan from Harry, who can only weakly kiss him back as Louis does all the work. 

Harry’s hands loosely rest on Louis' hips as they kiss, his mind momentarily forgetting that there’s more to come, when Louis suddenly pulls away, panting for air. He stares at Harry for a moment, and Harry stares back at him, gasping for breath as well, wondering what is going to happen next. He hopes that Louis moves quickly, because the longer they stand there staring at each other, the more likely it is that Harry’s rationale will kick in and he’ll leave. Thankfully, Louis seems to know that, and so barely two seconds pass before he’s yanking Harry by the scarf and shoving him into a nearby chair. Harry falls into it, barely sitting up straight before Louis is swinging a leg over him, straddling him essentially, settling his crotch on top of Harry’s thighs. 

He wastes no time tugging at Harry’s jacket, biting down on his bottom lip in his eagerness. Harry gets the message and quickly pulls off the clothing article, watching with wide eyes as Louis takes his off too, the both of them dropping them to the dusty floor. Louis' hands push Harry’s shirt up to, skirting underneath just slightly, his fingers cold against Harry’s warm skin. “Ah!” Harry reacts, his hands immediately pressing on top of Louis', a reflex reaction. Their eyes instantly lift to meet, Louis' flashing with a concern almost, before fading back to their normal darkness, with Harry clumsily moving his hands and taking off his shirt, the only thing left being his jeans and his scarf. 

Louis takes his shirt off too, leaving them both bare-chested and slightly chilly, but Harry has an idea that that’ll be the least of his concerns in a moment. He finds he’s right in that idea as Louis grinds his hips down against Harry’s, the friction sending a wave of pleasure over the both of them. Harry’s hands immediately go to grip at Louis' hips, his own bucking up against Louis'. Louis chuckles, his hands slowly dragging up Harry’s chest, stopping at his neck, his fingers messing with the hassles on his scarf. Harry gulps as Louis slowly unwinds it from around his neck, gathering it in his hands, the little smirk only growing as he pulls it completely off, exposing Harry’s neck and getting a nice view of the hickey he left behind. 

Harry has a pretty clear idea of what is about to happen, but his heart is racing nonetheless as Louis ties the scarf around his eyes, effectively blinding him. Now all Harry can do is hear, and feel, and wait in anticipation for what is going to happen next. The first thing he feels is Louis running his hands down his chest, between he valley of his abs, before stopping at the waist band of his jeans, where he can hear his breath speed up. Harry’s does too, in turn, before stopping completely as Louis undoes his jeans and plunges his hand down his pants, pressing the heel of his palm down immediately, causing Harry to let out a particularly obscene moan in reaction. One of his hands automatically moves to grip at Louis' wrist, holding his hand in place, the other staying on his hipbone. Louis chuckles, suddenly closer to Harry’s face as he licks a stripe up the side of his neck. “Do you want me to ride you?” he breathes, his breath hot against Harry’s ear. 

Harry whimpers, his hips bucking up against Louis' hand in response. Louis laughs again, pressing a harsh kiss to Harry’s jawline before sitting up straight and stroking his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. “And you call me the slut,” he hears Louis murmur. For a moment, Harry feels a rush of anger course through him, but it quickly dissipates as Louis uses his other hand to lift up Harry’s hand that’s on his hip. Harry gasps as he feels a warm wetness spread over his fingers, quickly coming to the realization that it’s Louis' tongue, or rather his mouth, gently sucking on two of his fingers. At the same time, he removes his hand from Harry’s crotch and awkwardly stands up, assumedly pulling his pants down. 

Harry hears his own breathing speed up as Louis pulls his fingers from his mouth and guides his hand downward. He doesn't feel anything that resembles a cock, so he assumes that his fingers are headed to a different destination. He hears Louis' breath catch in his throat as his fingers meet with his entrance. Louis releases his wrist then, leaving the task to Harry, which Harry hesitantly takes over. He circles one wetted finger around Louis' hole, before gently pushing it inside, past the tight inner ring. Louis let’s out a gasp, his hands immediately lifting to grip at Harry’s shoulders, his nails digging in as he pushes his own hips down against Harry’s single digit. Harry takes this as a go-ahead to insert the second finger, which he does, pumping the two in and out side by side, curling them just slightly to brush over that fabled sensitive spot. 

“Somebody’s been practicing,” Louis hisses, grinding against Harry’s finger again, his voice strained. Harry blushes furiously at the comment, but doesn't saying anything, just increasing the pace of his fingering, eager to be inside of Louis again. Now that he’s this close, the memories of the last time are returning to him, and he can feel giddy excitement layering over the lust in his stomach. He also feels a very nervous, not entirely sure what it’s going to be like with Louis the one calling the shots. He isn’t entirely sure if he likes the role reversal, but he’s this far gone, he’s not going to fight it. And it’s not like Louis is actually being dominant. Almost as if he knows better. Harry rolls his eyes under the blindfold as he continues to finger Louis, a moment of clarity finding him. Of course he knows better, he’s the school slut, he knows exactly how to read a person’s sexual tendencies and adapt in accordance. 

He’s momentarily distracted again as the sound of ripping foil fills the air, and Louis lifts his hips up to where Harry’s fingers slide out of him. He awkwardly sits there as Louis undoes the condom wrapper. “Have you ever had someone ride you?” he asks suddenly, his hands moving to pull Harry’s length out of the confines of his underwear, running a closed fist up it once or twice, before rolling the condom over it. Harry shakes his head in answer, gritting his teeth as the feel of Louis' hands touching him threatens to send him over the edge prematurely. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed friction until now. Louis gives a little ‘huh’ at Harry’s answer, removing one hand from his cock, but using the other to keep it steady. “So am I your first?” he asks, a sassy little chuckle following soon after. 

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but his words get lost as Louis slowly sinks down onto him, both of their loud moans filling the small pace and bouncing off of the walls. Louis maintains his grip on the base of Harry’s erection for a few more seconds as he continues to take him, eventually releasing as he is buried to the hilt. Harry can feel the tip of his erection pressed against what he assumes is Louis' prostate, the rest of it lost in the ecstasy of feeling that familiar tight warmth around him again. Louis clenches around him once, causing Harry’s eyes to fly open even beneath the blindfold, his hands flying towards Louis' hips again. However, they’re intercepted by Louis' own hands halfway, a surprising warmth flooding through him that has nothing to do with the sex as Louis let’s their fingers fall together, their hands intertwining and holding tight as he begins to move his hips up and down on Harry’s lap. “Holy fuck,” Harry says, his head lolling as Louis speeds up his movements, riding him. The waves of ecstasy crash over Harry as Louis bounces on his lap, lifting his hips to pull out about halfway, only to slam right back down, the muscles sliding and clenching around Harry’s cock, providing him with an almost constant stream of pleasure, and he has to do nothing except sit there. 

A few minutes pass with the only sound being skin slapping skin and labored breathing, before Louis speaks, his breathing ragged and his words more like gasps. “Say yes,” he says, coming down forcefully onto Harry’s cock, his hands squeezing Harry’s so tight they’re beginning to feel numb. Harry lifts his head, which had fallen backwards over the back of the chair, and he opens his mouth, confused. “Say yes,” Louis repeats, before dropping one of Harry’s hands. A second later, the scarf is being ripped off, and Harry’s eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly to adjust to the dim light. He immediately rakes his eyes over Louis' glistening torso, at his tensed muscles, to the scene just below, and then back up, all the way until they lock eyes. 

Louis' eyes are almost completely black with lust, his expression more concentrated and pleasured than seductive like last time. Harry decides in that moment that he likes this position better than the first, he likes seeing Louis' face with his own eyes rather than through a mirror or not at all. “What?” he pants, trying not to get too distracted by the fact that Louis had grabbed his hand again and linked fingers. Louis stares at Harry seriously, his face crumpling in pleasure as Harry feels himself hit his prostate. “Say yes to the deal,” he says, before clenching his eyes shut and throwing his head back, slamming down repeatedly on Harry’s cock. Harry feels a rush of confusion at Louis' words and the desperation behind them, almost like he’s begging. He doesn’t know what to say. Well, in this moment, he wants to say yes, of course yes, all the yes’s, but he can’t trust himself right now. He can’t agree to be Louis' fuck buddy while they’re fucking. His judgement is impaired. 

“I-,” he starts to say, but he doesn’t get a chance to finish his statement as Louis suddenly rotates his hips, supplying Harry with a new, almost blinding pleasure. “Oh, Louis!” he cries out, his eyes screwing shut as he stops breathing, the sensations becoming too overwhelming in that moment. In fact, that’s really all it takes for him to come, groaning, sitting up straight and ducking his head, his forehead resting against Louis' collarbone as he spills into the condom. Louis still continues to bounce on Harry’s lap, dropping his hands and immediately wrapping his arms around Harry’s torso, hugging him to him, their sweaty bodies moving languidly together as he somehow speeds up his movements. 

“Please,” he whispers into Harry’s ear suddenly. “Huh?” Harry replies lamely, still a bit out of it from his own orgasm, breathing heavily as he holds Louis. “Please say yes,” Louis elaborates, his voice almost sounding sad. Harry realizes with a start that this is actually Louis begging. And it almost breaks his heart, the sound of his voice. “Please,” Louis says. “Please, please, please,” he repeats in a pattern, increasing in speed and volume as he tightens his grip on Harry, his hips sporadically jerking on Harry’s cock at this point, buried to the hilt. Harry tries to gather his thoughts, but the combination of the repeating pattern of words and still the feeling of being inside Louis are all too much for him, and so he just says what he knows will satisfy Louis, even if it’s not exactly what he wants to say. 

“Yes, I say yes,” he says, letting out a gasp as Louis clenches around him, a warm liquid spilling onto his stomach, the entirety of Louis' rather small body shaking on top of Harry with the weight of his orgasm. He buries his face into Harry’s neck as he comes, delicious whimpers and groans exiting his mouth, which almost make Harry hard again, but before that can happen, he stands up, sliding off of Harry’s cock, and leaving him feeling strangely cold. He stands there, looking like a Greek god, sweating profusely, breathing heavily. He runs a hand through his curls, before he looks at Harry, the smirk finally making a reappearance. Harry can feel the guilt returning as he finally comes down from his high, his rational thought returning as well. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry Styles,” Louis says, before pulling his pants up in one swift motion and grabbing his jacket and shirt, throwing them on haphazardly as he opens the door and walks out, leaving Harry to sit there, alone in the half-dark room, still trying to wrap his mind around what exactly had just taken place. He realizes quite quickly that it’s going to cause him a lot of strife, and so before he does anything, he curses himself, burying his face into his hands as he lets out a long, frustrated groan. 

As is Harry’s philosophy that the entire universe is against him, as soon as he starts looking for Louis, he can’t seem to find him. Where before he was constantly trying to avoid him, now when he really needs to talk to him, he’s gone and fucking vanished into thin air. Harry is currently scouring the hallways before lunch, hoping to catch the manipulative little rat before the bell rang and he can dash off to some other mysterious place that Harry has yet to check. 

The reason Harry is chasing after Louis like a mouse chases after the promise of cheese in a mousetrap is that he has to retract his agreement. He has to tell Louis that what he said yesterday during sex can’t be taken as a serious answer, because he wasn’t in his right state of mind. He said what he said because he wasn’t thinking, he was overwhelmed, and he didn’t want to hear that sadness anymore. Now, in his rational mind, he curses Louis for manipulating him, for using the situation to get him to agree. It makes Harry angrier than ever, an actual blinding anger that makes him just want to throw things, or people. Or throw things at people. Except not just random people. One person. It makes him want to throw things at Louis. 

It wasn’t a difficult decision to decide to track down Louis and tell him absolutely positively no, he was not going to be his fuck buddy, but that actual application of that decision is proving to be very frustrating. Harry doesn’t know if Louis is avoiding him on purpose, or he’s accidentally making himself discreet, but either way, he can’t find him, and it’s lunchtime. Huffing, he gives up his useless charade and heads back to the cafeteria, trying to wipe off the furious expression as best he can. He’s about to have the eyes of Liam and Lou back on him, and he’s pretty sure they’re still talking about him behind his back, and now that he’s back at square one with the whole Louis thing, he has to be extra on his guard. He can’t give them any more reason to think he’s acting strange. He doubts they actually connect his off-ness to Louis, but it still means they’re paying him extra attention. 

He collapses into his usual seat, having brought a packed lunch, and he’s the first to arrive, the rest of the round table empty. He sighs, running a hand through his hair before sitting his phone down and pulling out his lunch. He had packed a salad this morning, with little individual containers of toppings and the dressing, and seeing it does make him a little happier. Salad always cheered him up for some strange reason. Salad and coffee, but he had had that this morning. He’s just drizzling the ranch over his salad when Liam and Lou both arriving, falling into the seats with exasperated sighs each. 

Harry looks between the both of them before stabbing his fork into his salad. “What’s up with you guys?” he asks, taking a bite. Lou groans first, dropping her head forward and rest on the table, her hands in fists. Liam gives her a sympathetic look before answering Harry’s question, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Young is fucking us up the ass with all these assignments,” he says. He drops his hand, revealing a wide set of eyes as he slams his hands on the tabletop. “It’s not like he doesn’t know how extremely busy I’m about to be with student council and the dance,” He groans then too, dropping his face to rest on the tabletop just like Lou. 

Harry alternates between looking at Liam and then at Lou, thoughtfully eating his salad the entire time and wishing that he too can be worrying about assignments and overbearing schedules. But no, he’s worrying about something completely different. Harry decides to take their distraction and use it to his advantage, actually getting some enjoyment out of his lunch without having to worry about his friends trying to figure him out. “My classes have been great, thank you for asking,” he says nonchalantly, popping a tomato into his mouth. Liam doesn’t react, but Lou lifts her head just enough to glare at Harry, to which Harry only gives her a cheeky little grin in return. She narrows her eyes slightly, before going back to groaning into the table. 

Harry spends the silence scrolling aimlessly through his phone, on his various social medias, taking his time eating, and just enjoying not having to worry for a second. He knows that as soon as he stands up to get ready to go to class that anxious need to find Louis will come back to ruin his day, so he tries to delay that for as long as possible. However, even though time is a construct created by humans and designed to create chaos, the lunch period ends, and Harry sighs, packing away his things and standing up. He gives Liam a comforting pat on the head, ignores Lou completely, and walks off towards the direction of the trash bins and his advanced literature class. 

He can’t help it, his eyes immediately scan the immediate area around him, having not done so at all during lunch, falling on the table that Louis usually occupies, and he sees Niall, but not the boy he fucked in a bathroom and a storage closet. Nope, no sign of him anywhere. He grumbles in response, his steps a bit more forced as he makes his way down the senior literature hall. He doesn’t bother looking for Louis now, knowing that he won’t find him in this hallway. He sighs, blinking a few times to get some moisture into his eyes, and almost collides with fellow senior Zayn Malik. He manages to stop himself before he actually does, but it’s enough to get the kid’s attention. He turns around, cutting off the conversation he’s having with the girl just in front of him, and he gives Harry a warm smile. “Oh, sorry, Harry, am I in your way?” he asks, stepping out of the way regardless. 

Harry shakes his head, returning the smile. “No, it’s my fault, I was distracted,” he says hastily, strangely intimidated by Zayn’s rather kind gaze. Zayn laughs, waving it off and picking up his book bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “That’s just what happens when you breathe in too much weed smoke,” he says, winking at Harry, before turning around and disappearing into the classroom, the girl following after him. Harry barely has time to process his words before his entire being is flooding with paranoia. 

Did Zayn see something? Harry doesn’t think Zayn has any reason to ever hang out around the stagecraft building—which is clearly what he was referencing just now—but he must have seen something. Everyone knows that the stagecraft building is the place where the students go to smoke, but Zayn seems to know that Harry has been there. How? Does he hang around there too? But as Harry goes back through the memories in his head, he clearly remembers checking to make sure he and Louis were completely alone. At least, he remembers checking before. But during? He certainly wasn’t thinking about anyone listening in. Should he have? 

He wants to take more time to contemplate this new information, but before he can, the bell rings and he’s shuffled inside by his fellow classmates, and he just has to wait. He barely makes it through the class, half-listening the entire time, missing questions, tapping his foot obnoxiously, but he doesn’t care. He has to find Louis, and he has to find him as soon as possible, to break off whatever is going on between them and get some fucking lines drawn in the sand. 

As soon as class is dismissed, he races out, the first to leave, and he goes to the one place that he knows Louis has to be. And no, it’s not like he memorized his school schedule, because he didn’t, he just knows that student council is every day at one in the afternoon, and Louis is a part of the student council. He doesn’t care that there are other members that are going to be present—his best friend being one of them—he doesn’t care in that moment. All he cares about is ending any type of interaction with Louis fucking Tomlinson. 

Now, obviously, Harry isn’t thinking rationally at this point, because if he were, he’d know that marching into a room full of his peers and dragging Louis out with him sends a pretty clear message to said peers, and that’s exactly what he’s trying to avoid. Thankfully, the universe finally does Harry a favor, and as he’s making a beeline to the student council room, he’s intercepted by the spitting image of Louis if he were a girl and had blonde hair. It’s his sister, Lottie, who is a year younger than Louis, a freshman, and also a member of the student council it appears. It’s not that Harry doesn’t know of her existence, he does, he just has never interacted with her before. However, she seems like someone who knows of Louis' tendencies and also knows not to divulge that information she has available to her, and so he stops her. He shoots out a hand, effectively preventing her from moving, and she snaps her head to look at him and Harry about does a double take. Because her eyes, they’re Louis' eyes, an identical set, except where Louis' hold mischief, hers hold compassion, and she flutters them as she locks eyes with Harry. 

“Can I help you?” she asks politely, a light blush dusting over her smooth skin. Harry is a bit caught off-guard at the kindness, dropping his arm as he realizes how frazzled he must appear to be. He takes a deep breath, before smiling back at Lottie and nodding, pulling her off to the side just in case anyone is listening in. Lottie seems a little confused, but lets Harry guide her, her lashes fluttering again as she looks up at him. Harry looks around just once, before looking back down at Lottie and dropping his voice an octave. “Actually, yes, you can help me,” he replies, smiling genuinely. 

Lottie peers up at him curiously, before returning the smile and nodding, clutching her textbook against her chest. “What do you need?” she asks, and Harry bites his lip, suddenly hesitant, before shaking off the concerns and asking the question. “Can you tell me where your brother Louis is?” he says, his voice low. Almost immediately, he sees a shift in Lottie’s attitude, her eyes darkening and narrowing as she frowns, taking a noticeable step back from Harry, her eyes looking him up and down as if seeing him in a different light, which he guesses she is. 

He feels his own blush dusting his cheeks this time, a surprising feeling of intense shame washing over him from being under Lottie’s intense glare. She lifts a hand to jab a finger to her left, Harry’s right, her voice void of all politeness as she speaks. “He’s in the choir room,” she says, and then Harry detects a flash of disgust cross her features as she shakes her head to herself and dashes away, leaving Harry alone. He wastes no time following her directions, a small part of his mind wondering why Louis is in the choir room, another part wondering what Lottie thinks he’s going there to do, and the largest part organizing his thoughts beforehand, remembering just how flustered Louis makes him. Which he hates, I might add. 

He doesn’t stop to knock or anything, he walks right in, surprised to see how open the room is. It’s completely empty, the chairs stacked and the curtains drawn to cover what Harry assumes are mirrors, and the giant grand piano is pushed off to the side. And that’s where Louis is, sitting on the bench, his fingers resting lightly on the keys. Harry doesn’t know what exactly he’s walking in on, but he doesn’t care. He slams the door shut behind him, dropping his bag and stomping right up to where he’s standing right next to the grand piano, bringing a harsh hand down on top of it. The whole entrance makes Louis jump about a mile in the air, his hands flying off the keys to press against his chest, his eyes lifting to meet with Harry’s. Harry feels a wave of satisfaction at seeing the fright in Louis' eyes, but he also sees the youth in them, and he suddenly feels guilty. 

“I only have one thing to say to you,” he spits, deciding to just say everything as quickly as possible. However, as soon as the words leave his lips, the fright wears off and Louis' sultriness is back, snaking around Harry, already beginning to distract him. “Oh Harry, we can’t do it in the choir room, it’s immoral,” Louis says, his voice like a snake too, slithering into Harry’s ears and fogging up his brain. Harry clenches his hand into a fist as he fights against Louis' exceptional influence on him. He knows that Louis knows how much Harry responds to that tone of voice, and he has to push past it, fight against it. And so that’s what he does. He continues on, ignoring everything that Louis is attempting to give him. 

“No! I don’t want to do it here,” he says. “Or anywhere,” he adds hastily, glaring harshly at Louis. By focusing on making his glare as hostile and cold as possible, it helps keep him grounded. Louis' gaze falters just slightly as he takes in Harry’s stance. Harry takes a deep breath, before continuing on. “I don’t want to have any association with you whatsoever, and I definitely do not agree to your deal,” And before Louis can counter and say that he agreed already, he cuts him off, holding up a finger. “What I said yesterday doesn’t fucking count, and you know it,” he snaps, surprising himself with the intimidation in his voice. 

Louis is surprised too, leaning back a bit as his eyes go wide and he raises his eyebrows, as if almost impressed by Harry’s sudden confidence. Harry continues to glare at him, seething, waiting to hear a confirmation from Louis before walking out of the room. Louis waits a few moments, blinking, before shrugging his shoulders, spinning around on the bench and bending at the waist to grab his bag. “I can’t force you to fuck me, Harry,” he says simply, throwing the bag over his shoulder as he stands up. He purposely swings his hips as he walks past Harry. Harry turns around to watch him, wondering if that’s that, if he’s going to just drop it and leave him alone. If it is, that’s not enough, Harry needs to set some serious guidelines. No grey areas at all. Just black and white. 

However, Louis turns around before Harry can tell him to stop, and his gaze is mischievous again, but not in the seductive way. In an actual, plotting type of way that makes Harry’s blood run cold. “Just know that you won’t be able to avoid me,” he says, smirking slightly. “I’ve just been appointed the senior class activities manager, which means that you’ll be seeing a lot more of me than before, and you might even have to talk to me,” he laughs at his own sassiness, jutting a hip out. Harry feels his heart drop into his stomach at the revelation, all of his resolve melting as he realizes that Louis has planned all of this out. He’s been played, he’s been part of a game this whole time, and Louis has been winning. He’s still winning. He’s got Harry trapped. 

“Have fun resisting me now, Harry Styles,” Louis says, pulling Harry from his reverie. And it’s at those words that Harry feels a rush of that old hatred he felt for Louis before all of this happened. A pure, unfounded hate that simmered in his belly and spread to his fingertips, the kind that motivated him to do everything in his power to prove Louis wrong. He’s going to prove him wrong, that’s what he’s going to do. He is going to ignore him. He is going to resist him. He is not going to give Louis the satisfaction of getting under his skin. He’s given him enough already, and now it’s time to say enough. 

And so he slides his eyes up to meet with Louis' alluring blue ones, and he narrows his own, putting as much hatred into the glare as possible. “You’ve had your fun, Louis Tomlinson,” he replies, his voice sickeningly sweet. He feels a rush of energy as the corners of his lips lift up in a smirk, and he sees Louis' gaze flicker a bit in uncertainty. “Now it’s my turn,” Harry finishes, and before he turns away, he chuckles. 

 

“Harder,” he begs, his hands pulling against the restraints as he arches his back, trying to desperately push his hips back against Louis' in a bid to gain more friction. He feels fingers pinch his hips at the action, and he cries out in pain as Louis chuckles, forcibly grabbing his hips and stopping him from moving. Harry whimpers softly as Louis lightly drags his nails up the back of Harry’s spine, bending over him, to where his lips are at his ear. Harry can feel his warm breath and he clenches his jaw, wishing that he could see. Not that he needs to, because Louis is doing an excellent job giving him a visual. 

“Is that what you want?” Louis breathes, his voice laced with poison. “For me to fuck your ass harder?” At the last word, Harry is lurched forward as Louis jerks his hips forward into him, surprising him. Harry moans as his legs shake, threatening to give out. He nods his head violently in answer, turning his head towards Louis' voice, his mouth open in a pant. Louis giggles some more, switching from lightly scratching Harry’s back to gently rubbing it, in an almost comforting way. “I like it when you’re on your hands and knees for me, Harry Styles,” he whispers, before he quickly sits back up, gripping Harry’s hips and pulling out about halfway. 

He flexes his fingers, before slamming back into Harry. His eyes fly open then, and before he has time to realize that it was all a dream, his face crumples as his body is wracked with waves of pleasure, his hips rutting down into the mattress as he quite literally comes, with no stimulation except his dream. He convulses as he buries his head in his pillow, groaning as a warm wetness spreads between his thighs. It’s a strange euphoria, lined with confusion, and he feels like he’s stuck between dreamland and reality. And he doesn’t like it. Well, I shouldn’t say that. He likes having an orgasm—who doesn’t?—but he doesn’t like the ways and means as to how it occurred. 

His hands grab at bunches of his sheets as he comes down from his unconventional high, a swooping guilt settling over him in its place. He lays there for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly just happened, his eyes blinking and staring at his wall. He’s breathing heavily, his heart racing, his mind still littered with the images from that dream. That dream. Harry has never had wet dreams before, but of course, he starts having them now. Now, when he needs to not be giving any of his attention to Louis, his fucking subconscious goes and betrays him. He can’t control what he dreams. 

But perhaps he can use it to his advantage. These dreams, as immoral as they are, and as guilty as they make him feel, can perhaps be used as a distraction from Louis during the day. Get off to him in the morning, ignore him during the day, problem solved. It’s all that pent up sexual frustration that causes Harry to think about Louis in the first place. If he just deals with that beforehand, then hopefully it’ll make his day easier. He doesn’t have to hate everything associated with Louis, after all. And it’s not like anybody can reach inside his subconscious mind and see what he does. It’s something that is between him and himself, nobody else. He doesn’t have to worry about people finding him out. 

With that mindset in action, he rolls out of bed, groaning when he realizes he’s going to have to change his sheets. He strips the bed, balling them up and tossing them into the corner of his room for after he takes a shower. He’s sweaty and sticky and still a bit hot and bothered, and so the warm water does an excellent job of relaxing him. He sighs, tilting his head back as he lets the water loosen his muscles, wake him up, and remind him that the world is gonna keep on spinning. He finds comfort in his familiar shampoo, lathering it through his hair and taking his time, massaging his scalp. He stays in until the water runs cold, and then he steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. 

He drops off his sheets in the washer before he leaves for school, grabbing his backpack and heading out into the bitterly cold air. He realizes as he’s zooming down the highway that he’s wearing the same scarf that Louis used to blindfold him. However, instead of feeling anger or embarrassment, he feels a strange sort of…well…sultriness. He in that moment hopes that Louis sees him wearing it, unashamedly, a reminder of what he can no longer have. When he pulls up to the school, he purposely decorates his face with a smirk. 

Because what is one of the places that he is always guaranteed to see Louis? In the parking lot before and after school. And today is no exception. Harry spots him by his car, buttoning up his coat and wrapping a scarf around his own neck. His face is void of any expression, the blank expanse not being something that Harry is used to. As he turns his car off, still staring at Louis, he’s reminded once again of how young Louis actually is. Sixteen years old. A baby. Except not. He wonders for a split-second how Louis gained the reputation that he did, how he started out sleeping with so many people, but he shakes the thoughts off. This isn’t a time to start figuring out Louis' backstory, this is a time to make him eat his words. This is a time to start proving him wrong. 

He climbs out of his car, slinging his bag over his shoulders, grabbing his sunglasses last minute. He shuts the door loud enough to turn eyes, and as he slips his sunglasses on, he lifts his eyes to see that Louis is one of the pairs of eyes. Harry can’t help himself, he feels his mouth lifting up in a barely-there smirk, just enough to convey an aura of severe arrogance. Although, Harry calls it confidence. Because when he looks at Louis now, he only feels a fiery motivation to spite him, to do what he plans on doing. Prove him wrong. He doesn’t feel a desire, no hatred even, just a superiority complex. And as he walks towards the building, he tilts his chin up, in a way that he knows shows off his jawline. 

When he passes Louis, he feels an intense charge of satisfaction run through him as he takes in the completely dumbfounded expression on his face. Louis' jaw is slightly dropped, his eyes wide with complete surprise and awe, and his hands are frozen around the fourth button on his coat. Harry leaves behind only his scent, not stopping at all to say anything or even acknowledge Louis' existence. He hopes he’s left the little shit completely in disbelief, and even though he won’t turn around to check, he hopes that Louis is watching as he goes. He hopes he’s watching, and he hopes he’s angry. 

He walks inside the school feeling like he’s on a pedestal of sorts, and he’ll admit, he keeps the smile on his face and he likes it when the eyes turn to look at him. He’s never been extremely popular per say, just hovering somewhere in the middle, but today, he feels like his status has jumped up a few notches. He’s now the equal to the Kian Lawley’s and the Cameron Dallas’s, maybe not permanently, but certainly for today. When he walks into his first hour, he catches Liam’s attention, who gives him a once-over, nodding thoughtfully. “You seem to be in a good mood today,” he remarks, tapping his pencil against his desk as Harry pulls out his materials. 

“Do I?” he asks, perking up his eyebrows as he smiles giddily. Liam stares at him for a moment, before smiling too, Harry’s happiness slightly contagious. Liam nods, spinning around in his seat to smile at the front of the classroom, slowly shaking his head. Harry sighs contentedly, turning to face the front as well, smoothing out his papers as he waits for the teacher to arrive. About three minutes pass before Liam speaks up, as if remembering something important. His eyebrows are raised as he reaches out a hand across the aisle to touch Harry’s shoulder. “What?” Harry asks lightly as he turns around. Liam leans in a bit, Harry copying the action. “Are you going to ask anyone to the dance?” he asks. 

Harry’s brow immediately furrows as his mind wraps around Liam’s question. “Dance?” he replies back, feeling stupid. It’s not his fault for not being quite up-to-date on the social life of the school. He’s had other things occupying his mind. Liam nods, popping his eyebrows up twice as if it’s some sort of secret that their high school throws a fall ball every November. “Yeah, who are you going to ask?” he repeats the question, wiggling his brows now, in typical Liam fashion. Harry stares at him for a moment, trying to think of an answer to Liam’s question. Is he going to ask someone to the dance? If so, who? What advantages would there be to attending a function that would require him dressing up and spending lots of money on a person he most likely won’t even want to be with? 

However, a pretty ingenious idea pops into his head not two seconds later, one that makes the corners of his mouth turn up again, and Liam to look at him like he’s gone insane. “Yeah, I think I might ask Ingrid Nilson,” he replies smoothly, sitting back in his chair and pulling a sultry look. It’s an act entirely, and he just hopes that Liam buys it. Harry’s sexuality is still at this point a secret to all except for Louis, and he plans on using that to his advantage rather than letting Louis use it for his own manipulation. He pulled Ingrid’s name out of thin air, her face being the first to pop into his mind when he thought of eligible dates. He’ll just have to be a good actor, good enough that Ingrid believes him, but not so good that Louis believes him. He doesn’t want Louis to believe him. He wants Louis to know that he’s lying. 

“Ingrid? The junior?” Liam inquires, genuinely intrigued by Harry’s choice of companion. Harry looks at Liam as if he’s dumb, raising his eyebrows lazily. “No, the alien,” he replies, his voice monotone. Liam narrows his eyes at the sass, scoffing and waving a hand at Harry before sitting back forward, crossing his arms tightly. Harry chuckles lightly as he sits back too, shaking his head in amusement. Before either he or Liam can continue their conversation, the teacher arrives, and they stay quiet, paying attention. Or at least pretending to. Harry’s mind is elsewhere, coming up with the perfect scheme to prove Louis wrong. He’s going to take Ingrid to the dance, but before that, he’s going to make a point to be seen with her. Seen with her, in front of Louis. He wants Louis to see. He wants him to be jealous. He isn’t sure if it’ll work completely, but he definitely has to try now that he has the images of Louis' shocked face in his mind. 

He resolves during class to ask Ingrid as soon as the bell rings. He knows that her next class is also in the math hallway, so she shouldn’t be difficult to pull aside. He doesn’t doubt that she’ll say yes. She’s pretty, but not extravagantly so, and Harry doesn't look completely awful, and she’s just plain nice, so he has no hesitations on her answer. Plus, he doesn’t mind spending a bit of money on her, it’s not like she’s done anything to fuck him over. He isn’t going to make it a unique ask, simply because he doesn’t have time. He’s hoping that the spontaneity will cover it. He highly doubts that she’s expecting him to ask her to the fall ball. They’ve barely exchanged six words over the course of three years. That doesn’t matter though. 

When the class is dismissed, Harry jumps up, quickly packing away his things. Liam watches him apprehensively, pausing in his ministrations. “Got a date?” he asks, holding back laughter. Harry snaps his head up, realizing how crazed he probably looks, and he blushes, before nodding. “Kind of, I’ll catch you later, okay?” he says, and before Liam can reply he throws his backpack over his shoulders and scurries off, exceptionally eager to find Ingrid now. He isn’t even on the lookout for Louis, his vision tunneled as he seeks out the brunette that will help him ruin Louis Tomlinson. 

He finds her talking to a girl with short blonde hair, a girl that he doesn’t know, but he hopes that what he’s about to ask will make up for any conversation he’s interrupting. He comes to a frenzied stop behind her, reaching a hand out and letting it fall gently her shoulder. “Ingrid!” he says, sounding a little breathless. Ingrid spins around, her eyes wide with surprise and just a dash of lighthearted fear. Harry smiles, showing his teeth, and he relaxes when he sees Ingrid smile back at him, turning completely around as Harry keeps his hand on her shoulder. “Hi, Harry,” she says quietly. Harry smiles some more, before taking a deep breath. 

“Ingrid, do you want to go to the fall ball with me?” he says, and almost instantly, everyone’s eyes swivel to look at him and Ingrid, some shocked, some admirable, most just glad for a distraction from the mundaneness that is high school. Ingrid blushes furiously, her eyes darting to look at the blonde girl standing next to her, before sliding back to meet with Harry’s. She waits a beat, before grinning widely and nodding, bopping her head up and down adorably. And even though Harry is only asking her for the most selfish of reasons, seeing her as excited as she is, it gives him a little bit of a rush, and he smiles back, laughing as he pulls her into a hug. “Yay!” he says, feeling her tiny arms wind around him. It’s a platonic gesture to the extreme—to him at least, but it’s a nice feeing regardless. 

As he’s hugging Ingrid, he hears applause around him, and he lifts his head to see a few people clapping, giggling along and smiling joyfully. He blushes a bit as he realizes what a scene he’s created, but he’s glad for the attention. And he’s especially glad for it as his eyes continue to scan the hallway, and they land on one person in particular. Standing near the end of the hallway, gripping his math book so tightly his knuckles are whit, lips pressed into a tight line, the most hateful glare in his eyes, is Louis. And as Harry locks eyes with him, he can feel his heart speed up, and he tightens his grip on Ingrid. He can feel his eyes darken as he gently tilts his head, and smirks. 

Directly at Louis. 

 

He’s never been to a dance before. It’s not for lack of want, it’s just, he’s never really had any reason to go. One year he actually had something to do that night, and the other he just couldn’t be bothered to ask someone and get dressed up and spend money on a fancy restaurant. His friends had always begged him to go stag with them, just for the after party if anything, but he had always refused. And now, here he is, a senior in high school, attending prom with a girl with the sole purpose of making a boy jealous. If that isn’t the most cliche thing of all time, Harry doesn’t know what is. 

He’s been texting back and forth with Ingrid, making a point to spend more time with her in school, that being at lunch and after in the parking lots. This is partly to actually get to know Ingrid so that the night isn’t completely awkward, but it’s also so that Louis can see. Can see Harry not paying him any attention, can see Harry not giving two shits about him, can see him proving him wrong. Ingrid doesn’t seem to realize Harry’s ulterior motives, and he’s grateful for that. He doesn’t want her to feel used, he actually wants her to get some enjoyment out of the evening, and he plans on giving her that. Not anything past a few good spins on the dance floor, but hopefully it’ll be enough for her. 

They’re going with a group that includes the likes of Liam, Lou, Eleanor, Zayn, and Niall, and to be completely honest, Harry is slightly excited. Especially as he looks at his reflection, at his carefully tailored suit and styled hair, at his green eyes that throw sparks across the glass. He looks, to use his words and not mine, striking, and he absolutely positively cannot wait to see Louis' reaction. He carefully puts on his cuff links before grabbing his keys and wallet, and the little box that holds Ingrid’s corsage. He almost forgot to order one, but thankfully Liam educated him on the traditions of high school prom night just in time. 

He dashes out to his car, checking to make sure that he had removed his books and bag from the passenger seat before backing out, speeding off in the direction of Ingrid’s house. He plays some calming music on the way, realizing about halfway there that his heart is beating at a rather quick rate, and he doesn’t want to sweat away all of his anti-perspirant before even getting to the dance itself. Thankfully, the soothing voice of the 1975—Harry’s go-to stress relieving band—calms him down, and by the time he rolls up to Ingrid’s house, his heart is beating at a completely normal pace. 

He puts the prettiest smile on his face as he walks up to the front door, trying to exude as much heterosexual as possible to deter any possible doubts, and when the door opens and he sees Mr. and Mrs. Nilsen, he knows that he has nothing to worry about. He walks inside, prepared to go through the mandatory pre-prom photoshoot and interrogation, his smile ready and his answers on the tip of his tongue. 

***

The gymnasium is, as Harry fully expected, decked out to the extreme. Liam won’t stop babbling about how much it took to plan and organize and actually decorate for the titular event, but Harry can’t blame him. As he walks in, with Ingrid on his arm, he lifts his head and is amazed to see the hundreds and hundreds of white lights, strung from one end of the ceiling to the next, creating a canopy of sorts, washing the entire room in a beautiful white glow. The walls are lined with shimmery gossamer, and the tables are covered in silver tablecloths, with candles bunched in the middle to act as centerpieces. A photoshoot complete with a professional photographer and backdrop with props is off to one side, while a long table full of refreshments if off to the other side. The DJ is centered towards the front of the gym, with the dance floor right in front of it. 

Harry begins to see many familiar faces as he and the group wade through the masses, but not the one person in particular. He knows that sophomores aren’t allowed to go to prom unless they have an upperclassman as a date, but Harry has no doubt that Louis has managed to either sneak his way in on his own, or—and this is the more likely scenario—gotten a date. The thought of Louis with a date makes Harry feel a brief flash of anger, but he’s quickly distracted as the booming voice of Ed Sheeran interrupts his thought process. He bounds towards him, leaving his date to stand there awkwardly, a goofy grin on his face. 

Ed is an old friend of Harry’s, the height of their friendship being back in their freshman year, but they’ve maintained relatively steady contact since then, but he must be super surprised to see Harry at prom, because he can’t seem to believe it. “Harry Styles, what are you doing here, dude?” he asks, after releasing Harry from the near-suffocating hug. Harry chuckles, before turning back to gesture at Ingrid, who tentatively walks forward, her white dress glittering as she waves, smiling pleasantly. “I’m here with Ingrid, to dance most likely,” he says, laughing as Ed kisses the top of Ingrid’s hand in a mockingly formal gesture. He bounces up and down a bit on his feet before nodding, running a hand through his wildly curly hair. 

“Well, it’s awesome to see you here, dude! The others are over by the punch if you wanna stop and say hello,” Ed says, already backing up towards his date. That’s just the way of Ed Sheeran, he never can stay in one place for more than three minutes at a time, always on the move, always searching for the next interesting thing. Apparently he’s finding it in his date, giving Harry a wave before turning around and running back to her, catching her and whisking her off to the dance floor. Both Harry and Ingrid watch as he disappears into the mosh pit, before they share a glance, giggling a bit. Harry turns to face Ingrid, smiling warmly as he takes her hands in his. “What do you want to do first? Dance?” he asks, rubbing his thumbs over the top of her hands. 

She peers up at Harry for a moment, before turning her head to look at the dance floor. Harry sees her eyes go wide for a moment, before she’s furiously nodding, and grabbing his hands, pulling him quite forcefully towards the center of the room. He’s curious as to why she’s suddenly so adamant to dance, but he doesn’t mind. He’s hoping that he’ll finally see Louis somewhere on the dance floor. He isn’t quite sure how he’ll react if he sees another person with him, but he pushes those thoughts away. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he’s with someone. That’s not why Harry’s here. Not to get the scoop on who Louis Tomlinson went to prom with. He’s here to show to Louis that he is capable of ignoring him. Definitely capable. 

As he and Ingrid arrive, they get into position swiftly, Ingrid’s face drawn as she looks around, seemingly everywhere except Harry’s face. Not that Harry minds, as he’s kind of busy looking for something else as well. He absentmindedly puts his hands on Ingrid’s waist, while she locks her hands around his neck, and they begin to sway to the soft music, eyes wandering, unlike the other couples who can’t seem to look away from their respective partner. The song is about to end, and neither Harry nor Ingrid have found what they are looking for, and so it’s with a sigh that they look back at each other. The weak smiles they exchange tell more than their words could, and so they keep their mouths shut as the second slow song starts. 

This time, they only make it about a quarter of the way before Harry can’t stand it. He can’t find Louis, and Ingrid seems extremely pre-occupied so he can’t even distract himself by keeping up that charade, so he finally just stops swaying and looks at Ingrid, releasing her. “Do you want to go get some punch?” he asks, feeling a bit awkward. Ingrid blinks a few times, before nodding. “Yeah, okay,” she says, her voice somewhat exasperated. This night has taken a rather drastic turn in a rather short amount of time, and it’s kind of giving Harry whiplash, so maybe a cold drink will help clear his head and organize his thoughts. He and Ingrid both head that way, walking faster than is typical at a high school dance, and when they arrive at the table, they don’t notice, but the people near them give them rather strange looks as they take in their forlorn, maybe even a bit hostile expressions. Harry is hoping to see his old friends that Ed mentioned, but he doesn’t see them anywhere near him. 

“Harry!” a voice suddenly rings out, carried over the masses. Harry’s head snaps up as he lowers his cup of punch. His eyes search for the source of the voice, before landing on Liam, who dashes up to him, his eyes wide and excited. “What?” Harry replies as Liam stumbles to a stop in front of him. He grabs ahold of Harry’s arm, leaning around him quickly. “I’m going to steal him away for a sec, okay Ingrid? I promise I’ll give him back,” he says, his words slurring together with how quickly he’s speaking. Ingrid’s eyes pop, before she just nods, and Harry is being dragged off by Liam, away from the refreshments table and towards the back of the gymnasium. 

“Liam! What is it?” Harry practically yells as they finally stop, breathing heavily. Liam giggles as he puts his hands on Harry’s upper arms and spins him around, keeping ahold of him with one hand as he rests his chin on his shoulder, and points with his left arm. “Look at who drug your favorite person to the prom,” he says, his voice slippery. Harry feels his heart drop into his stomach and suddenly the stringed lights above him are way too bright and the music is way too loud. As much as his heart is screaming at him not to, his eyes follow Liam’s finger, and sure enough, a ways away, he finally finds him. Standing there, dressed to the fucking nines and looking more like a supermodel than a sixteen-year-old high school student, is Louis. His hair is loose, his cheekbones highlighted, his jawline sharp enough to cut through steel, and he looks, well, striking. 

“Who is he with?” Harry asks, his eyes refusing to slide over to look at Louis' companion. Liam chuckles again, dropping his hand from Harry’s arm. “His name is Nick Grimshaw, he’s a transfer from North Monroe,” he explains. Harry’s eyes narrow, still staring solely at Louis, already a newfound hatred spewing for this so-called Nick Grimshaw from North Monroe. Despite the fact that he’s from Harry’s rival high school, just his name sounds pretentious. He doesn’t even know what he looks like, but the fact that he’s at prom with Louis Tomlinson says quite a lot about him already. “I hope they’re enjoying themselves,” he says bitterly, before spinning around and roughly yanking Liam forward as he moves backwards. 

“Dance with me,” he says, stopping as they hit the edge of the mosh pit. Liam ogles at him, his eyes wide and in shock, but before he can say anything Harry starts dancing. He throws his head back and moves his body to the music, and before much time passes, Liam joins him. The two of them dance like complete idiots on the outskirts of the pit, but they’re careless and free and don’t care what anyone thinks. And Harry will admit, just dancing his heart out like this, with his best friend, it’s exhilarating and definitely helps put his mind at ease. In this moment, he lets all of his frustrations out with his dancing, just letting his mind get lost in the music. He even manages to laugh with Liam, and smile, and feel like a complete idiot. He knows that as soon as he stops all that stress and frustration will return, but for now, he’s free. 

And though he can’t see it and perhaps will never know it, it’s him dancing with Liam that really, really pisses Louis off. 

About three songs later, Liam stops dancing, wheezing as he bends down and grips his knees, catching his breath. “Gonna need to call it, Haz,” he says, before groaning and standing back up, giving Harry a warm smile. Harry, panting and sweating slightly, nods in agreement, returning the smile. “I’m going to head to the bathroom, make sure I don’t look like a complete mess,” he says, patting Liam on the shoulder before rushing off in the direction of the restrooms. His mind is buzzing as he makes his way, still on a bit of a distracted high. He’s hoping that it’ll last long enough for him to find Ingrid again—realizing with a jolt of guilt that he kind of abandoned her at the punch stand—and get back into the swing of things. 

He carefully stows his cuff links away in his pocket before he pushes open the bathroom door and lifts his head. And what he sees is enough to plague him with the images for a lifetime, send his heart spiraling to the ground, and cause his blood to run ice cold. His pupils dilate as his jaw drops and he’s left standing completely dumbfounded in the doorway to the bathroom, one hand holding open the door. He can’t even form a single though, not one word, the only thing he’s able to register being the blindingly intense surge of anger and guilt and betrayal that he feels. 

Pressed up against the wall, his legs wrapped around the boy who’s name must be Nick’s waist, noises of satisfaction leaving his mouth, is Louis. He’s being pushed up against the wall in a rhythmic pattern, his hands leaving scratches on the back of Nick’s blazer, his eyes clenched tightly shut. It takes a few seconds for Harry to realize just what it is he’s witnessing, but once he does, he both desperately wants to look away but also can’t seem to tear his eyes off of the scene. It’s because of the sounds, they’re so intimate, so obscene, but mostly, so familiar. They’re the sounds that Louis made with Harry. Both times. Suddenly betrayal is the biggest feeling Harry feels, overwhelmingly so, his vision clouding over because of it. 

In that moment he starts to back up, not wanting to see Louis fucked against the wall by a boy that isn’t him any more, but before he escapes, his worst nightmare comes to life. Louis lifts his head, and his eyes fly open, and where do they land? Right. On. Harry’s. And instead of widening and being full of shock and embarrassment at being caught having sex, they’re the complete opposite. They lock with Harry’s eyes—which are wide with shock and embarrassment and a lot of hurt, though he’ll admit that one—and they narrow, filling with derision, layered on top of the lust and the mischievousness. 

It’s when Louis smirks that Harry finally turns around, letting the door swing shut as he makes a beeline not towards the gym but towards the locker rooms off the the side. He’s ashamed to admit that his eyes are full of tears, his heart racing as the feelings crash over him so quickly he can’t even identify them. They’re intense, they’re debilitating, and they’re embarrassing. Because this reaction, this is exactly what Harry has been trying to prove to Louis wouldn’t happen. But he’s wrong. And Louis is right. Harry can’t resist him. He physically can’t. And it’s not so much the fact that he can’t resist Louis that so upsets Harry, it’s the fact that he wasn’t able to prove Louis wrong. It’s the fact that he never can seem to gain the upper hand when it comes to him. 

He never should have slept with Louis. If he hadn’t, nothing would’ve happened, nothing at all. But he did. And now everything has changed, and even if it isn’t, it feels like the world is falling down around him. He doesn’t have anyone he can go to, because the thought of telling someone is mortifying. To admit that he’s that type of person, it would make him want to kill himself. No, he’s going to have to deal with this himself. 

But how? He doesn’t know how. As he sits on the bench in the locker rooms, with his head in his hands, sobbing, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s at a complete loss. He’s hurt and angry and part of him doesn’t know what he’s feeling. That part of him is trying to figure out why he’s having such a dramatic reaction to what he saw. Some of it is normal—the shock and embarrassment at catching two people fucking—but some of it isn’t. The intense feeling of betrayal, of hurt? He shouldn’t be feeling those, because he doesn’t feel that way about Louis. He doesn’t value his opinion of him, he doesn’t want his love or kindness, so why does he feel this way? 

He lifts up a hand and punches the locker in front of him, focusing in on the sharp stab of pain his knuckles feel, focusing on it in the hopes that it’ll keep his mind from repeating the scene he witnessed over and over in his head, like his own personal form of torture. As the blood begins to run through his fingers and stain his suit, he lifts his head, catching his reflection in the mirror across from him, and as he stares at his puffy red eyes and the tears and the look of pure despair, in that moment, nothing is striking. 

Absolutely nothing. 

 

 

He stays in the locker rooms perhaps long enough to garner suspicion, but he can’t bear the thought of going out and facing all those people after what he just saw. He’s almost positive that his expression of mortification is semi-permanent, and no matter how long he stares at his reflection in the mirror he can’t seem to wipe it away. Every time he tries to gather himself, he just breaks down all over again, and the tears well up and his eyes get red again, and he’s back to the pathetic heartbroken mess he was before. And isn’t that what he is? Pathetic? Maybe not the heartbroken part, because he’s not in love with Louis, he hasn’t given his heart away to even be broken but, that’s what it feels like. 

And layered on top of it, as much as he hates to admit it, is sexual frustration. Seeing Louis being fucked against the wall like that gave Harry flashbacks to when it was him fucking Louis against the countertop in the bathroom, and he can’t help it. His blood rushes to straight to his cock and despite the fact that he hates Louis Tomlinson, he can’t suppress his more primal urges, and it makes him want to tear his hair out. He abruptly stands up, seething, wanting to relieve himself as quickly as possible. And so it’s with tears in his eyes and hatred coursing through his veins that he stands in one of the shower stalls, and undoes his slacks. 

He feels like the actual definition of a slut as he grits his teeth, running a closed fist over his hardened length, images of Louis flashing through his mind like they do every single morning. He feels the salty tears leak into his mouth as he clenches his eyes shut and tries to get himself off as quickly as possible. The last thing he needs is to be sexually frustrated on top of being mortified and embarrassed in front of the entire upperclass. And so he speeds up the movements of his hand, rotating his wrist around, squeezing his shaft as he approached it. It was the strangest mixture of emotions, because he both felt physically good but mentally broken. He’s crying as he approaches his high, and it’s not even a satisfying one, it’s a weak one, barely doing the trick. 

After everything is said and done, he steps out of the way and turns on the water to rinse away the mess, shutting off the water before resting his arms on the divide, burying his face in them as he breaks down into sobs. The noises bounce off of tiled walls, reverberating right back into his own ears and only reminding him of how pathetic he’s being. He isn’t exactly sure what he’s crying over, but it’s a culmination of all the stress he’s been feeling over the past month. The stress of not only sleeping with Louis but of his own sexuality. He isn’t out by any means, but he’s also not questioning it. How could he? There used to be a question, but he’s pretty sure it’s been answered by now. He’s gay, but he hasn’t given himself the opportunity to accept that for himself. He’s been so wound up focusing on Louis and his antics that he hasn’t even had time to realize what all of this means for him. 

Layered on top of that is everything else. Liam’s suspicion, and Zayn’s offhand comment, and Louis' smirks, and Harry Styles, and the fact that Harry has been reduced to a blubbering mess over the person he hates. He had been played by the greatest player in the game, and he supposes he’s crying because he’s lost. He couldn’t prove Louis wrong, he couldn’t resist him, he couldn’t get over him. He’s crying because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next. He can’t accept Louis' offer, because it’s not an offer anymore. Besides, he doesn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if he stooped so low. But what other option is there? Louis is the senior activities manager, Harry is going to be forced to interact with him frequently, and if he has this reaction every single time, it’s just not worth it. 

He doesn’t know what to do in the long term, but in the short term he can stop crying. He can stop being such a fucking pussy and pull himself together. He’s an eighteen-year-old man who knows better than to hide in the locker room and cry over a boy. He’s not going to indulge in his sadness anymore. What he’s going to do is wipe his eyes, fix his hair, and return to the dance as normally as possible. He’s going to find Ingrid and apologize for abandoning her, and then he’s going to get the fuck out. Take a drive and clear his head, and then go home and sleep it all off. The morning would bring answers, he’s sure of it. 

And so he does just that. His eyes are still red-rimmed when he exits the bathrooms, but he doesn’t really care at this point. His eyes scan the gym—which is still buzzing with life—and his eyes land on Ingrid’s white and shimmery dress relatively easily. She’s not alone like he expected, she’s with that same girl that she was with when Harry asked her to the dance, the girl with the short blonde hair. He doesn’t question it too much as he approaches her, painting a smile on his face as he reaches a hand out to tap her on the shoulder. She spins around, her eyes widening for a moment before softening as she grins up at Harry. “I’m so sorry I just left you, I…uh, got caught up with some things,” he says, trying his hardest to keep himself composed. Ingrid peers up at him for a moment, before grinning some more and pulling him into a hug. “It’s okay,” she says, before releasing him. She looks over her shoulder for a minute, at the girl standing just a bit behind her, and then looks back at Harry, a look of admiration decorating her features. 

“I actually used your absence to finally get a dance with Hannah, so thank you,” she says, smiling with all of her teeth. Harry’s eyes pop at the confession, a bit of confusion running through him as Ingrid keeps smiling. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off when Ingrid speaks again. “I know you didn’t ask me to the dance because you liked me, Harry,” she says, quieter now. Harry feels his cheeks heat up instantly at the admittance, and he takes a step back, looking down. He feels suddenly guilty being caught in the act, but as he tentatively looks back up at Ingrid, he’s relieved to see that she doesn’t seem particularly upset about it. As was just made clear, she didn’t accept his answer because she liked him, either. Harry isn’t quite sure how to respond, but thankfully Ingrid fills the silence, moving forward to embrace him once again. 

“I hope you get what you’re chasing after too, Harry,” she whispers into his ear. Harry freezes at her knowing words, his eyes shining like glassy orbs as Ingrid pulls away, giving him a sympathetic smile, before turning away and leaving him on his own. He stands there for a moment, processing Ingrid’s words for a second. What is he chasing after? The fact that he can’t properly answer that question almost makes his resolve falter as he stands there in the center of the gym. Is he chasing after sex, or is he chasing after a relationship? He wants to answer to neither, he wants to not being chasing anything or anyone, but Ingrid is right in her assumption. He is chasing after something. But what? 

He blinks away the thoughts and the tears, immediately turning around and walking rather quickly towards the exits. He’s not moving fast enough though, and it’s almost like he can feel everyone’s eyes on him even if it’s not true, and so he breaks out in a run, not caring that it’s probably drawing the most attention to himself. He needs to get out of here as quickly as possible, out of this poisonous place that he never should have gone to. In his haste to get out, he practically shoves Liam out of the way, who spins around and watches him leave in shock, worry flashing across his features as he doesn’t hesitate to run after his best friend, ignoring the calls of his friends. 

Harry pushes through the doors and is immediately grounded by the freezing air, his sight clearing and his mind too as he bounds out into the parking lot, remembering with ease where he had parked. He weaves through the rows and rows of cars, oblivious to the fact that he’s being followed, and he arrives at his car breathless. He leans against it for a moment, letting his body catch up with his heart, his breath coming out in white little puffs that hit his window and fog it up. He stands up straight before unlocking his car and climbing inside. He falls into the driver’s seat, leaning his head back against the rest and closing his eyes, focusing on catching his breath. 

He blindly shoves the key into the socket and gives it a turn, his car humming to life, the heater blowing cold air on him before warming up. His music automatically starts—If I Believe You by the 1975—and he’s grateful for it. The steady beat helps slow his heart down, and bring him back to his senses. As is with any meltdown, Harry feels wholly stupid afterwards, even though he knows it was a rather natural reaction. It’s not like he can compare it to anything else, because he’s never been in a situation like the one he’s in right now. It’s a ridiculous one, one that was so easily avoidable, but, like aforementioned, it is what it is. 

The knock on the glass—besides being the most cliche thing to ever happen—makes Harry jump about a mile in the air as his eyes fly open and his almost-calm heart speeds back up to its previous rate, and he glares at Liam as he unlocks the door and he climbs in, bringing a slice of cold air with him. He falls into the passenger’s seat, twisting around to look at Harry, his eyes looking blue in the moonlight that refracts off of his glasses. They’re worried eyes, Harry picks up on that instantly, and he feels bad. For making Liam run after him, for giving him enough reason to be worried. “Harry, what is going on with you?” Liam asks, his voice laced with concern as well. He isn’t being judgmental, he’s genuinely looking out for Harry’s well being, and Harry can feel that. That almost paternal need to protect him. He knows that no matter how much he doesn’t want to, he knows that he has to tell Liam. 

Holding on to a secret this huge is probably one of the primary reasons it’s causing him so much stress. Humans as the beings they are have a primal urge to share, and everyone needs a confidant. Harry hasn’t told anyone about his complicated interactions with Louis, he’s kept it all to himself, and that’s what’s slowly eating him up inside. Having nobody to swap opinions with, having nobody to ask questions to, having nobody to just vent to. And Harry knows that as embarrassing as it will be to confess how low he’s gotten, he knows that he wouldn’t confess to anyone else except Liam. Liam, his best friend, he knows that he can trust him. He has to. He’s all he’s got. 

“I slept with Louis Tomlinson,” he whispers in the dim light of his car, closing eyes so he doesn’t have to see Liam’s reaction as he continues on, being completely honest. “Twice,” He lets that silence hang in the air for quite some time, he can feel it settling like an ice cold blanket over his shoulders, freezing upon contact and keeping him rooted in reality, unable to even lose himself in his imagination as a means to escape. He can still hear Liam’s steady breathing, can still feel his presence, and he can also hear his own heartbeat, and he wonders if Liam can too. He keeps his eyes shut until Liam speaks, and even then he refuses to open them, still afraid to look back into Liam’s eyes. He can’t even think up what Liam might say before he does speak, and he can’t help but feel the tears gather in his eyes at Liam’s words. Because they’re not at all what he would’ve expected him to say. 

“And you don’t regret it, do you?” he asks. Harry’s eyes fly open despite his resolve to keep them closed, and he almost immediately opens his mouth to protest, to say that yes, of course he regrets it. He’s regretted it ever since the start, he’s told himself that, he’s confided himself in that, it was the one thing he was sure of. He regretted sleeping with Louis. He wishes it could take it all back, because it’s the reason he’s crying again. He’s the reason there’s even something to confess to Liam. But as he opens his eyes, and he locks gazes with Liam, and he sees that wise look of knowing, he suddenly realizes that Liam is right. He realizes that Liam has always known what has been going on, and he realizes that he’s dead on right. 

As Harry let’s the condemning realization run through his mind, he bursts into tears, letting his head fall back into his hands as his sobs wrack through his body. He doesn’t know why he didn’t see it before, why it is truly a shock to figure it out. He doesn’t regret sleeping with Louis. That’s the reason he’s so broken up over it, that’s why he felt a betrayal when he saw Louis with Harry, that’s why he’s so confused. He doesn’t regret it. He doesn’t. Regret it. These words run through his head at a million miles an hour as the simultaneously suffocating and relieving emotions crash over him. He feels a comforting hand rubbing his back as he cries, and he focuses in on that steadiness, using it as an anchor of sorts. 

He forces himself to stop crying, lifting his head as he hiccups, his entire face red and tear-streaked. He looks at Liam, like a lifeline, and Liam looks back at him, an expression of pure sympathy on his face. “I hate myself,” he whispers. Liam’s expression pains then, his eyes crinkling as he shakes his head, propping Harry up just a bit to better look at him. He gives a slight shake of his head, using a thumb to swipe away Harry’s tears. “We all make mistakes, Harry,” he says gently. Harry gulps, not saying anything, letting Liam continue on. Liam offers up an encouraging smile as he pats Harry on the shoulder. “And we’re graduating in six months, which means you’ll be moving far, far away from him,” he reassures. “You just have to ignore him for that long,” 

Harry frowns, shaking his head in protest. “I can’t, I can’t ignore him,” he chokes out, hearing the truth in his own words. He watches, and is a little surprised, when he sees Liam’s gaze harden, and the sympathetic look falls from his face. His next words are firm, if not a bit cold. A warning. “Well, you’re going to have to,” he says. Harry pales considerably at that, gulping and shrinking away just slightly from Liam’s harsh gaze. Thankfully, it softens quickly after, and Liam pulls Harry into a comforting hug. Harry stiffens at first, but eventually returns the hug, wrapping his arms around Liam and pulling him close, relishing in how human this touch feels. How not motivated by lust or desire it is. A hug designed to comfort only. “Six months,” Liam says, and then he leans away, smiling at Harry once before, before brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

Harry weakly returns the smile before Liam leans away, turning in the seat and exiting the car, jogging back to the gymnasium. Harry follows him with his eyes until his brown hair can no longer be seen, and then he slumps back in his seat, sighing as he let’s the weight of this night sit on his chest. He refuses to think about any of it, except Liam’s words. Six more months. Surely he can manage that? Right? He thinks he can. But as he lifts his head to actually put the car into drive, the gods are once again pissed at him, and he looks up just in time to see Louis and his date leaving the gym. Louis is slung around the boy, giggling it appears, and to see it makes Harry almost blind with jealously and anger. His muscles contract at the feeling, and his hands clench around the steering wheel to the point where is knuckles go white and he knows then that Liam was wrong. 

He can’t wait for six months. He won’t wait for six months. 

 

 

The Monday after the dance, after school, that’s when Harry decides he’s going to talk to Louis. Or rather, he’s going to beg for him to put that offer back up on the table, because it’s the only solution he can see. To just give up, admit defeat, and give in to his urges. Take advantage of the free sex, the no-strings-attached, and hope that it helps get rid of all this tension and frustration and sadness that has been plaguing Harry. If he just gives Louis what he wants, just lets him have his win, then maybe he can get him back. Not back. Away from Harry. Not away. Just. It doesn’t matter. He’s just going to get him to be his. Wait, no, that’s not what he wants either. There isn’t an exact way to label what it is he’s doing. 

He catches Louis in the parking lot after school, and he swallows his pride and his fear, replacing it with a rather shaky determination and an almost comical look of confidence, but he’d rather Louis laugh at him then refuse to talk to him at all. He remembers how well Louis responds to him being confident, and he hopes that it helps him convince him to put the offer back on the table. And if not, then he’s resolved to getting down on his knees and begging Louis to take him, to use him, that’s how badly he wanted to be free of these restraints. He’s not entirely sure if ‘restraints’ is the right word, but it’s how he feels. Trapped, like he has ropes tied around his hands, and his hands are tied behind his back, and he’s blindfolded, and he can’t see anything. He can’t move, he can’t do anything except sit there and be reminded of how trapped he is. 

He’s trapped by his own stubbornness, his own unwillingness to just give into what his body and subconscious want. He’s too caught up in what society will think if he’s ever found out, he’s too caught up in his own morals and reputation, and he needs to let that go. He needs to not give two shits what people think of him, and he especially needs to not give two shits what he thinks of himself. He’s not breaking any laws, he’s not hurting anyone, he’s just doing what he wants. Everyone goes on a wild streak once in their life. He excepted to have his during college, but no, it looks like he’s having it right now. And he needs to be okay with that. 

Louis is walking with his head down, flipping through what appears to be some sort of sheet music, but Harry doesn’t get that close of a look, because he’s too focused on intercepting Louis before he arrives at his car, which is parked near the front of the lot. Harry crosses southward, cutting through the second row of cars, narrowly avoiding Niall Horan’s sideview mirror from hitting him square in the chest. He barely makes it in time, Louis lifting his hand to unlock his car just as Harry jolts to a stop in front of him. Louis jumps a bit, startled, lifting his head and locking eyes with Harry for a split-second before Harry shoots and arm out and yanks Louis rather forcefully away from his car by the wrist. 

He doesn’t give Louis a chance to say anything as he drags him through the parking lot, easily maintaining his vice-like grip on him, feeling slight pity at how easy it was for him to drag him. That being said, Louis isn’t fully resisting, just letting his feet drag as Harry pulls him along, tripping slightly over the divots in a way that would be adorable if the reason Harry is yanking him along were a little more innocent. Harry tugs Louis along all the way to the back of the parking lot, a very determined look on his face, and continues on past the softball fields, to where the lot is pretty much completely empty, save for a few cars here and there, one of which is Harry’s shiny white one. 

He clicks the unlock button on his key a few feet away, the lights flashing in accordance, and he doesn’t drop Louis' hand still. At this point Louis has stopped even what feeble resistance he had done before, walking obediently, his arm floppy dead weight at this point, but Harry’s fingers still locked tightly. He brings Louis around to the passenger side of his car, not wanting to give him any opportunity to escape, and he finally stops, opening the door and letting his hand fall from Louis' wrist. His eyes glance up to briefly meet with Louis', not enough time to register anything past a severe lack of any emotion, and so he continues on with his predetermined plan. He moves around to where he’s standing to the side of Louis, and he not-so-gently pushes him down into the seat, smiling a bit to himself as he fumbles. Once his legs are tucked inside the vehicle, Harry slams the door shut and quickly skirts around to the driver’s seat, opening the door and falling inside, pulling it shut behind him until it’s just the two of them and the silence. 

Harry looks at Louis, actually looks at him for the first time, and he flinches internally as he remembers the last time he locked his green eyes with these blue ones. Prom night. The night everything fell apart. But now, instead of being devilish and avid, they appeared almost bored. Which really fucking pisses Harry off. He expected to see surprise, shock, maybe even a little bit of admiration at his confidence, a little bit of impression, but no. He just sees a pair of blue eyes staring back at him like he’s the least interesting thing to inhabit this earth. Clenching his teeth, he tries not to let it get to him, sucking in a breath and talking. “I’m through playing your games, Louis,” he says, happy when his voice doesn’t break or crack. Those words actually do garner a reaction out of Louis, an eyebrow raise and flash of intrigue. 

However, it’s short-lived as the boredom returns and he just shrugs his shoulders and leans back in his seat, staring out through the windshield. “You didn’t have to drag me to your car to tell me that,” he says, folding his hands lightly over his backpack sitting in his lap. Harry’s eyes flash with anger as he narrows his eyes, his emotions taking over for just a split-second as the words rush out. “You know, correct me if I’m wrong, but I feel like you’re just a little bit obsessed with me,” he says, even though he knows the words are entirely untrue, and his face betrays him as he blushes. 

Louis turns slowly in his seat to stare at Harry, his eyes wide and in disbelief, as if he dared to have said something that blatantly false. Harry shrinks away at the gaze, and feels his blood run cold as Louis chuckles, shaking his head slightly as he leans back again in the seat. “Oh no, it’s not me who’s obsessed,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. Harry blushes more furiously at that, turning around and slamming back into his seat, pinching himself for saying something so stupid and immature. He scrambles to say something else before Louis just up and gets out of the car, leaving Harry alone. And Harry knows himself well enough to know that he won’t chase after Louis again. And so he speaks before he’s ready, and ends up saying the wrong thing again. 

With that leftover anger at Louis' intense indifference to everything, he spits out his next words. “If this is your way of trying to get into a relationship with me, you clearly have no fucking idea what you’re doing,” he says. And while those words are just as untrue as the last ones, Harry is thoroughly surprised when they don’t just roll off of Louis, actually pulling an offended reaction out of him. He gasps, his jaw dropping as he turns around roughly in his seat, his eyes narrowed to slits and his hand gripping the back of the seat so tightly his knuckles are white. Harry looks over at him a little bit proud of having gotten such a reaction out of him, trying to mirror that look of indifference Louis was just sporting, and kind of succeeding, as it only made Louis' expression that much more hostile. When he speaks, his voice is ice cold, laced with poison, and if Harry wasn’t trying to be so smug, he’d probably be slightly terrified. 

“I don’t do relationships,” he says icily. He glares at Harry, as if the mere idea that he could even consider Louis being someone’s boyfriend is just the ultimate sin. Harry can’t help but smirk a bit, analyzing the situation and using it to his advantage. Though he doesn’t acknowledge it this moment, a small part of him is stung by the fact that Louis doesn’t do relationships, but that’s irrelevant at present time. Still smirking, Harry leans forward just slightly, reaching a hand over and settling it on top of Louis' knee. Before Louis can retract his leg, he digs his nails in, just enough to keep his knee in place. He tries to be as smug as possible as he slides his eyes up to meet Louis' fuming ones. “But you do enjoy having a fuck boy to mess around with, do you not?” he purrs, surprising himself as he hoods his eyes and lets his hand drift a bit further up Louis' thigh. This isn’t what he had planned, but does anything ever go to plan? The answer is no. 

Harry sees Louis' gaze falter at that, his lips parting as he is for once speechless. Harry perks up one eyebrow, tilting his head as he waits for Louis to answer. Louis' eyes flutter rapidly as he shakes his head, leaning back. Harry hadn’t even noticed he had leaned forward, but he doesn’t adjust his position in accordance. He stays right where he is, a gentle smirk on his face. “That was a one time offer, and you know that,” he says, but his voice wavers. It’s so out-of-character of Louis, Louis the boy who exudes confidence and sex and mischief, to see him shaky, unsure, and, well, trapped, it makes Harry giddy. Harry chuckles as he continues to trail his hand up Louis' thigh. He’s not sure where this dominance is coming from, but it seems to be doing the trick in convincing Louis. “I think you can make an exception,” he whispers, halting his movements just before it gets interesting. 

He hears Louis swallow, batting his eyelashes nervously as he stares down Harry, the hostility and coldness all but gone, only to replaced with an almost mesmerizing calculation. Harry maintains his own seductive look as he watches the gears turn in Louis' head. His heart his racing in anticipation, almost as bad as waiting for exam results, and he hopes that Louis says yes, he hopes to god, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he says no. He doesn’t even want to think about it. A few more seconds pass, before Louis seemingly makes his decision, and he lets his hand fall on top of Harry’s. 

In a moment of deja vu, Harry hears his own words repeated back to him before he’s being pushed up against the driver’s side door. “Fuck it,” Louis hisses, before tackling Harry, roughly pushing him up against the driver’s side door as he climbs on top of him, the position completely inadequate for what he’s trying to accomplish, but he doesn’t quite seem to care as he crashes his lips against Harry’s. He impatient, his hands clawing at Harry’s sides, his teeth nipping down on his bottom lip as he desperately kisses him. Harry is completely taken aback, which is why his mouth is at first clamped shut as Louis practically attacks him. At Louis' needy little nip though, he let’s his jaw fall, and Louis greedily introduces tongue, exploring Harry’s mouth as if he’s never done it before. 

Harry’s hands are gripping both the steering wheel and the headrest as he tries to to keep from falling off the seat, but he knows that this isn’t going to work out, not if they want to do anything past an uncomfortable make out session. And so with some difficulty he pushes Louis off of him, gasping as he catches his breath, his emotions finally catching up with him as he’s flooded with both relief that Louis said yes, and of course arousal as he takes in Louis' black eyes and flushed cheeks. He seems a bit confused that Harry broke things off when they were getting so heated, but Harry is quick to reassure him, putting his hands on his shoulders to use as braces as he pulls himself into a sitting position. “Backseat,” he says breathlessly. Louis snaps his head over his shoulder to look, before looking back at Harry, and finally that familiar smirk slides back onto his lips. And this time, it brings Harry comfort instead of anger. 

“What if we get caught?” Louis says, his voice slippery as he let’s his hands travel the distance of Harry’s chest. Harry swallows, mustering back up his courage as he shrugs his shoulders, keeping his gaze locked firmly on Louis alone. “Let them watch,” he replies. Louis' eyes spark with approval as a devilish grin replaces his sultry smirk and he chuckles, weaving a hand through Harry’s hair once before pulling it away, twisting away from Harry and expertly maneuvering his way into the backseat, crawling through the small space between the two seats. Harry quickly follows after him, feeling slightly foolish but not really caring what with the promise of what is about to happen motivating him. Louis collapses onto his back, stretching as much as he can, but still having to bend his legs slightly to fit. It’s still not the most ideal of places, but at this point, neither boy can be bothered to care or move somewhere more comfortable. Harry lays directly on top of Louis, hovering slightly above him, their crotches dangerously close. 

Louis immediately lifts his hands to lock around Harry’s neck, his eyes catching Harry’s virescent ones, and in that moment, Harry detects a flash of innocence in Louis' eyes, but a false innocence that only turns him on further. It quickly fades into that familiar darkness and Louis wastes no time pulling Harry’s face down to pick up where they had left off, lacing their lips together. As Louis puts all of his attention into the kiss for some strange reason, Harry decides to speed things up, reaching down between them and placing his hand on top of Louis' bulge. Louis moans into the kiss, pressing his lips more insistently against Harry’s, who parts them and turns the kiss into an open-mouthed one, letting Louis lick into him as he pleased. He pushes his hand down on Louis' crotch, barely giving him time to buck up against the touch before he removes his hand and grinds his hips downward instead, supplying both of them with a satisfying friction. They both moan into each other’s mouths at the sensation, Louis' hands slipping a bit from Harry’s neck. 

Harry sits up then, breathing heavily as he wipes his mouth, wet with Louis' saliva, and he puts his hands on Louis' jeans and roughly pulls them down, all the way, until he’s sitting bare on the seat of his car, exposed to him. Harry’s eyes dilate at the size of Louis yet again, and his mouth waters in lustful anticipation. “Sit up,” he orders, shifting back a bit in the seat to get in a better position. Louis' eyes flutter before he does as Harry says, darkly chuckling the entire time. “Well, this is a surprise,” he says. Harry refuses to meet his gaze as he lowers himself between Louis' legs, eye-level with his throbbing erection. Despite how calm and cool Louis sounds, his body language tells a different story. He’s shining with a sheen of sweat, his stomach rising and falling rapidly, and the way he almost immediately winds his fingers through Harry’s hair shows Harry just how desperate he wants this. 

Prepared to give Louis what he can, he blows hot air on his length, eyes lighting up as he Louis hisses, instantly pushing Harry’s head down, causing his sensitive tip to collide with Harry’s closed lips. Harry giggles against it, letting the vibrations course downward before he more adamantly presses his lips to Louis' tip in a kiss. He hears a low growl from Louis which he takes as permission to continue on, suctioning his lips around the head and bobbing his head about halfway down, before lifting it back and flicking his tongue over the slit, the salty taste of pre-cum coming back to greet him. He wraps his lips around Louis' shaft again, going almost completely down, surprising himself with the lack of a gag reflex, especially since he’s never done this before. He’s also surprised at the sheer lack of nerves, but perhaps it’s because he doesn’t really care if it’s a bad blow job. At least he’s giving Louis one. 

He begins to pick up a rather steady pace of bobbing his head up and down on Louis' length, completely slicking it up with his saliva and Louis' pre-cum, sucking harshly. He switches between picking the pace and letting Louis guide him the way he wants to, keeping his teeth sheathed and deep breaths coming through his nose. During one of the times that he let’s Louis move his head, his lifts his eyes to lock with Louis', which are black with arousal. His jaw is clenched as he hisses through his nose, the whimpers escaping despite his attempt to keep them trapped behind his teeth. “God, you’re hot,” he says, which only makes Harry harder himself, and in that moment he can’t wait any longer. He needs his own release. And so the next time Louis makes to push his head down, he resists, lapping only lazily at the tip, before removing his mouth completely and backing up to sit on the opposite side of the backseat. 

“Give me the condom and prepare yourself,” he demands, holding out a hand. Louis, eyes glistening with glee, reaches down to grab his pants, plunging one hand into the pocket and producing both the silvery condom packet and the small bottle of lube. He hands the condom to Harry as his hand wraps lazily around his still-slick length, running it lazily up and down. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” he says, his voice silky. Harry groans as he takes off his own pants, running a tight fist over his cock, giving it a few good pumps as his eyes slide shut. “You’re so much better than any of the others,” Louis continues on speaking, though his voice is a little strained this time, and Harry can only assume it’s because he’s stimulating himself in preparation for him. His words only turn Harry on further as he opens his eyes and carefully focuses on tearing open the condom wrapper and rolling the latex over his erection. 

Once it’s securely on, he lifts his eyes just in time to see Louis pull his fingers out from underneath him, lifting his own eyes to lock with Louis. Louis smirks, shifting back down to rest on his back, and invitation for Harry to crawl back between his legs, holding his cock in one hand, and using the other arm to hold himself over Louis, who lifts his own legs to lock around Harry’s waist. Their eyes meet, and there’s a moment of hesitation, before Louis contracts his legs, pulling Harry even closer, to where his sensitive tip brushes over Louis' entrance and he moans involuntarily. “Fuck me, Harry Styles,” he whispers, lifting his hands to grip Harry’s shoulders. Harry growls as he does as Louis says, slowly pushing inside of him. 

It doesn’t take long to breach him, Louis' back arching and his eyes screwing shut as his mouth opens up in a silent scream and his nails dig into Harry’s shoulders it’s enough pain to illicit a wince. But Harry doesn’t mind as he continues to push inside of Louis, his velvety warmth already almost enough to send him over the edge. But he manages to hang on, knowing that it’s too soon to come yet. As Louis' muscles clench and unclench around his length in adjustment, he keeps his eyes wide open, studying Louis' features, relishing in the fact that he’s once again in this position. He gives his hips one more thrust and then he’s buried to the hilt inside of Louis, the feeling of ecstasy swirling around him. “Jesus Christ, you feel so good,” he says, which cause Louis' eyes to open and find his. He giggles, clenching around Harry’s cock in answer. “I’ve missed this pretty cock of y—a-ah! Jesus Christ!” Louis cries out as Harry suddenly pulls out of him and slams back in so quickly it catches Louis off-guard and puts an end to whatever he was going to say. 

Harry chuckles as he lowers his body just a bit so that his face his closer to Louis'. “Do you want it rough?” Louis looks back at him with watery eyes, nodding furiously as his fingers pull at Harry’s hair. “Yes Daddy, please fuck me hard,” he says, pouting out his lower lip as Harry slowly rotates his hips. Harry narrows his eyes as he pulls himself back up further, pulling his hips back to where only his head is lost inside of Louis, and he makes his voice as firm as possible. “Don’t call me that,” he says. At the word ‘call’ he jerks his hips and fucks roughly back into Louis, who cries out, hands immediately flying above his head to grab at nothing as Harry picks up the pace, effectively fucking Louis. Louis can’t seem to contain the noises exiting his mouth as he is roughly pushed up against the driver side door over and over again with the force of Harry’s thrusts. 

“Yes! Just like that, Harry!” he gasps, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck again and pulling him downward, their faces close enough that Harry can see the sheen of sweat on Louis' forehead. He bites down on his lip as he feels his own high approaching. The feeling of Louis' muscles sliding around his cock is overwhelming, something that he doesn’t think he can ever get used to, and it makes his eyes roll back into his head. Louis' moans and whimpers increase as his hands fall to drag along Harry’s back, leaving scratches even through the fabric, and Harry winds one hand under Louis, to the arch in his back, lifting him up and pressing their chests. Louis essentially is dead weight in Harry’s arms as he lets Harry fuck him into oblivion.

It’s a few thrusts later that Louis presses his face into Harry’s neck, his legs shaking violently. “Oh, Harry!” he cries out, his nails digging into Harry’s skin as he screams out his completion, his muscles tightening around Harry’s cock as he feels a bit of Louis' come shoot out onto his own stomach, which is still moving languidly as he chases after his own orgasm. Louis collapses back onto the seat, his chest heaving as he recovers from his own orgasm. Harry keeps up the pace though, his breath coming in short gasps as he feels the lust pool in his stomach. Louis looks up at him, smiling in an almost loving way as he lifts a hand to cup Harry’s cheek. “Is my Harry about to come?” he asks, his voice unnervingly sweet. Harry groans, leaning into Louis' hand as his hips stutter sporadically, his control slipping. 

“Come for me, Harry Styles,” Louis whispers, and that’s all it takes for Harry to become undone, his entire body shaking as he comes hard into the condom, hips thrusting one final time to bury him completely inside of Louis, his vision blurry as the overwhelming sensations crash over him and the only thing he can process is how good he feels. As he returns to his senses, his falls on top of Louis, his head resting near his collarbones, his breathing erratic and uneven. Louis' hand falls lazily on top of Harry’s head, his fingers threading through his hair and stroking it gently. The two just lay there for a moment, catching their breath, before Harry shifts just a bit to pull slowly out of Louis. He doesn’t sit up still though, too out of it still, and Louis doesn’t seem to protest, only letting his legs relax on either side of Harry as he continues to run his fingers through his fingers. 

After a few minutes, he finally does speak, however. “Meet me at the pier on Friday, at five in the afternoon, understood?” he asks, his voice serious. Harry crinkles his brow, but nods assent anyway, wondering what’s going to take place on Friday. Wondering if he can wait until Friday. “Do we need to swap phone numbers or something?” he asks. Louis' fingers stop their ministrations at that, and he wriggles under Harry, who takes it as a signal to sit up. He does so, and when he looks at Louis, he sees that it’s business as usual, and he quickly smooths his expression out, letting his rational thought take over. “No, I don’t give out my phone number,” Louis explains, reaching for his pants and beginning to pull them back on. Harry copies him, pulling the condom off and tying it as he tugs his pants back on as well. 

He’s slightly confused by the lack of a means of communication, but this is Louis' deal, and he’s just a participant. He’ll let him set the rules. All the rules. “Just be there, okay?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. Harry swallows, before nodding, zipping up and buttoning his jeans. And suddenly they’re both fully clothed again and it’s like nothing ever happened. Louis' lips turn up into a smile as he grabs his back from the front seat, one hand grabbing the door handle as he gets ready to leave. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Harry,” he says with a wink, and then he opens the door, climbing out and jogging back to his car, leaving Harry completely alone to contemplate what has just happened, and what will continue to happen from now on. 

 

 

In the days leading up to Friday, paranoia becomes Harry’s best friend. It wakes him up in the mornings, it follows him around school, it goes to sleep next to him. It clings to his back like an actual physical being, scratching at his neck and making him look over his shoulder at a near constant rate. It tickles his ears and makes him hyper-aware of every sound around him, every whisper and breath, he hears it and he makes sure that it doesn’t have to do with him. The paranoia pulls his focus and distracts him from his work, which in turn only draws more unwanted attention to himself. 

He suddenly feels like every pair of eyes at West Monroe are on him, scrutinizing him, reading him like an open book, and he’s afraid that everyone knows about his arrangement with Louis. He’s afraid that someone saw them on Monday in his car, even though it’s highly unlikely. Even though nobody has been giving him weird looks, and even though he hasn’t heard anything, the paranoia still eats away at him like acid. He supposes it’s a natural reaction, but it’s an annoying one at that. To feel constantly watched, like he’s committed some sort of crime, it’s the worst feeling in the world. And the thing is, there’s probably nothing to worry about, but by thinking there’s something to worry about, he’s just giving people a reason to be suspicious. 

He needs to calm down, take a few deep breaths, and act normal. Quit looking over his shoulder, quit listening in on conversations that literally have nothing to do with him, and just focus on counting down the days until he sees Louis again. He feels a little dirty for being so eager to fuck him again, but now that he’s let go of that guilt attached to it all, he can’t help himself for being excited. Who wouldn’t be excited at the prospect of guilt-free, emotionless sex? 

Since Monday, Louis has kept up his side of the agreement surprisingly well. He’s been scarcer than ever before, with Harry not catching sight of him at all during the school day, not even before or after in the parking lots. He isn’t quite sure how Louis is pulling it off, especially because he still is the senior class activities manager, which means he’s supposedly interacting with the seniors on a daily basis, but he doesn’t question it. He knows it’s a good thing that he is never caught in the same vicinity as Louis, and he uses that fact as a deterrent to his paranoia. Nobody can draw a connection between him and Louis if they’re literally never seen together. 

Harry about has a handle on his paranoia when he arrives at his chemistry class, pulling himself up on a stool next to Liam, flashing him a smile. Liam returns it, sliding over a copy of the lab packet, drumming his fingers on the table, catching Harry’s attention as he lifts his head from pulling his supplies from his bag. He raises his eyes at Liam’s curious gaze, his heart immediately speeding up as his mind of course jumps to the worst possible conclusions. And the thing is, with Liam, he should be worried. Because if you’ve forgotten, Liam knows about the connection between Harry and Louis. Harry has up until now quite successfully been blocking that particular conversation from his mind, and the warning that went along with it, but now he’s going to have to lie through his teeth in an attempt to convince his best friend that he has taken his advice to heart and has cut off all ties to Louis. 

Which, if Louis continues to remain as inconspicuous as he has, and Harry somehow manages to not let the paranoia get to him, it should work fine. Sure, Harry feels a bit bad lying to Liam, but he doesn’t have it in him to try and explain himself. He doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t feel like he should have to. It’s his life, his body, he can do with both as he pleases. That being said, he would rather spare himself the disappointment that Liam would surely convey if he were to know the truth. 

“What?” Harry asks lightly, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too out of the ordinary. Apparently it doesn’t, because Liam just folds his lower lip out as he shrugs his shoulders, sitting up and facing the front of the classroom, meticulously straightening his sheets of paper. “Nothing, you just seem a little off,” His eyes slide over to look at Harry in a shifty little sideways glance, and Harry feels the color run from his cheeks a bit as he tucks his hands under his thighs and tries his hardest not to look guilty in the slightest. Instead of just letting the silence settle, Harry prompts a continuation in the conversation, hoping that it sends a message to Liam that he has nothing to hide. “How so?” he asks, his mouth dry. 

Liam turns his face completely to look at Harry, shrugging his shoulders again, but slumping down a little, letting a wave of casualness wash over them, somewhat relaxing Harry a bit. “I don’t know, you just seem different,” he says, his voice not accusing, just thoughtful. He locks eyes with Harry as he perks up his eyebrows, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You still hate Tomlinson?” he teases, laughing a bit at the end, though Harry can detect the underlying seriousness in the double entendre. He’s asking two questions in one, he knows it. And even though the mention of Louis makes Harry’s insides run cold and the paranoia to quite literally bite him in the shoulder, he manages to keep his composure, letting out a little scoff as he rolls his eyes, spinning around on his stool. “Do you still like boys?” he shoots back. At Liam’s laughter, Harry feels his blood begin to warm up again, and he laughs along with Liam, shaking his head slightly in amusement. Feigned amusement, but none of the matter. 

“I am a little stressed,” he decides to say, figuring he needs to give Liam some sort of excuse, seeing as he’s clearly giving off enough of a vibe for Liam to notice a difference. “Oh yeah, why?” he replies. Harry sighs, uncapping his pen and aimlessly doodling in the margins of the lab handout, even though he probably isn’t supposed to. “Just finals and college applications,” he says lamely, knowing the excuse is stereotypical, but it’s also not a complete lie, so he feels a bit better saying it. He hears Liam’s answering groan, looking over just in time to catch the end of an eye roll before he buries his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me about college applications, Haz,” he mutters. Harry chuckles, reaching a hand over to pat the back of Liam’s sweater. “Haven’t sent yours in yet?” he muses. 

Liam sighs, lifting his head to remove his glasses only to settle his head back in his hands, moaning softly. “I’m getting there, okay? I’ve been really busy with student council, we all have,” he explains. Harry switches from patting Liam’s back, to rubbing it in slow, comforting circles. “I’m sorry, Li,” he says quietly, his gaze sympathetic. He realizes that he hasn’t been paying Liam or any of his other friends much attention since the incident in the bathroom over a month and a half ago, and this guilt that he feels isn’t an unwelcome feeling, it’s one that he embraces and acknowledges, vowing in that moment to spend more time with his friends. He’s finally settled into the agreement with Louis, he has no reason to stress over anything else, no reason to spend his time hiding in his house trying to figure out how to deal with Louis, he can be social again. He should be. 

“Do you want to do something later this week? It’s been a while since we’ve hung out together,” Harry suggests, still rubbing circles into Liam’s back. Liam waits a beat, before lifting his head, a small little smile on his face. He takes a deep breath, sitting up straight and running a hand through his hair. He contemplates for a moment, before nodding, dropping his hands. “Yeah, that sounds like fun,” he says. “Are you free on Friday?” His eyes are expectant as he watches Harry for an answer. Harry blinks a few times, before shaking his head, simultaneously shaking off his paranoia in the process. “I can’t on Friday, I’m sorry,” he says. He can see the question forming in Liam’s eyes, but before he gets a chance to ask it, he cuts him off, suggesting another date. “How about Saturday morning? We can get coffee and go hike the trails?” he says. 

He immediately realizes that that’s probably going to be one of the most uncomfortable hikes ever—regardless of the fact that he’s a top—but it’s too late to take it back now. Liam blinks at Harry, before swallowing his question and smiling brightly, nodding as he sits up straight once again. “Yeah, that sounds fun!” he says. Harry returns the smile, genuinely looking forward to Saturday, and spending time with Liam. He is his best friend after all, that has to stand for something. 

The week continues on without much change, nothing interesting happening except that the paranoia crawls back up Harry’s back and digs its claws in for the duration of the week, which really bothers Harry, but there’s nothing he can do except fight it best he can until the titular day finally arrives, and he hopes that Louis can at least distract him from it for a while. He goes five over as he speeds to the pier, wondering where exactly they’re going to do it, seeing as all that the pier consists of is a ridiculously long boardwalk with a little square building at the end that held freezers of bait and like two vending machines, but that’s essentially it. He doesn’t question it though, just climbing out of the car and tightening his windbreaker around him as the salty sea water sprays his way. 

The gravel crunches beneath his feet for a moment before his footfalls are sturdier, the wooden planks less slippery despite the fact that they’re dripping with seawater. It’s not cold, exactly, just very moist, and Harry’s hair is thoroughly decorated with little water droplets that he easily shakes out when he ducks into the little bait shop. It’s completely empty, even the counter, the lights shut off and the only sound being the gentle hum of the freezers containing the bait. Harry for a second is afraid he’s in the wrong place, but then he remembers that there’s only one pier in Monroe, Washington, and so he relaxes, turning around and wondering if maybe the person working is just around back or something. But before that he wonders where Louis is. He doesn’t know why, but he hasn’t been expecting to have to wait on him. 

The more he waits, the more and more unsure of himself he grows, and with that, the paranoia grows too. Like a creature clinging to his back, it weighs him down, and there’s nothing he can do except stand there awkwardly, waiting. Because he doesn’t have a phone number, he doesn’t have any way to contact Louis. It’s actually kind of cruel of Louis, to be late to their own meeting, leaving Harry stranded. Harry supposes he could just leave, but for some reason he feels like that’s breaking part of the agreement or something. Why couldn’t they have been more specific in their terms? 

A few seconds before Harry is actually about to leave, the door the shop opens, and Harry feels a mixture of relief and anticipation rush through him as he takes in Louis' form. He’s dressed in a turquoise raincoat, hair slightly pressed down from the mist as well. Harry’s eyes continue to trail down Louis' body as Louis fiddles with the door handle, twisting what looks to be the deadbolt to the front door. Harry can’t see much under the coat, except for Louis' ankles, but he figures he’ll get to see plenty in due time. “What is this place?” Harry asks, his shaky voice startling him a bit. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t quite think he’ll ever get over that slight, subtle intimidation that Louis exudes towards him. It would bother the old Harry, but he can’t seem to care less at this point. 

Louis turns around, finally revealing his face, and his eyes, still a bright blue, yet to be clouded over with lust and darkness. “It’s my brother’s shop, but he closes at noon on Fridays,” he explains, briefly locking eyes with Harry before brushing past him, going to lock the back door, closing the window shutters as he goes, basking the two of them in a dim brown light. Harry can smell Louis' scent from the waft of air he left behind as he moved past, and he discreetly breathes it in, letting it both relax him and turn him on. Louis' scent is a floral one, though he’s unable to pinpoint it past that. It’s a nice smell. 

As the silence settles between them, so does—you guessed it—the paranoia, even though it’s completely unfounded in this situation. They’re at no risk of getting caught, nobody would ever think to look for them here, and yet here Harry stands, paranoid as if he murdered someone. He decides to just voice is concerns now, because surely Louis of all people will be able to empathize, and maybe give him some tips on how to ease the feeling. Louis is making his way back towards Harry as he begins to speak, still facing away from Louis, staring absentmindedly at the front door. 

“I’ve been feeling paranoid,” he says, his hands mindlessly fiddling with the drawstrings of his jacket. “Is that normal?” He feels like a child asking the stupid questions, but he needs some answers. He needs to know that he’s not just completely overreacting. As if furthering his question, he flinches when he feels Louis wind his arms around his waist from behind, pressing his body against his, his head tilting so that his lips immediately attach to Harry’s exposed neck. “Hmm?” he hums in answer, sucking lightly at Harry’s neck. Harry tilts his head in response, letting out a breath as his hands fall on top of Louis', which are locked in the front of Harry, just above his navel. “I’m afraid that people will find out about us,” he says, a bit breathlessly as Louis removes his lips from his neck and begins peppering his jawline with little kisses, his hands slipping out from under Harrys to swiftly unzip his jacket. Harry let’s his eyes flutter shut as the jacket falls away from him onto the floor, leaving just the thin knit sweater separating Louis' hands from his bare chest. 

Louis doesn’t offer up an answer, only continuing to kiss up and around Harry’s ear, before suckling on the lobe gently, his hands dragging slowly down the front of Harry’s torso, before slipping up under the sweater and trailing right back up, bunching the fabric with him as he goes. “I keep feeling like people are watching me,” Harry says, his mind slightly fogging up with lust but still mainly focusing on getting his paranoia issues off of his chest. Louis exhales lightly against Harry’s ear before he steps away, only to shrug off his own jacket and step around in front of Harry, pushing up his sweater, avoiding eye contact entirely. Which bothers Harry, who tries desperately to catch his gaze, but apparently the Australian only has eyes for the green-eyed boy’s body. They’re wide and almost animalistic, and Harry doesn’t miss it when he licks his lips, instantly leaning forward to press kisses all across his collarbones. 

Gasping, Harry let’s his hands fall lamely on Louis' back, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as the pleasure starts to mount the further down Louis' kisses go. “Tell me I’m being stupid, that I shouldn’t be paranoid, Louis,” he pants, still pre-occupied. He’s a little annoyed that Louis seems more focused on his own satisfaction rather than answering Harry’s burning questions, and so, deciding to a be a little petty, he forces himself not to let his focus slip into lust. Even as Louis hooks his fingers through the waistband of his jeans and begins to push them down, he keeps his head and avoids looking down. “Louis, I’m being serious, I can’t just be worried all the time,” he says, eyes looking forward. An involuntary gasp escapes his lips as Louis' cold fingers wrap around his length, giving it a harsh squeeze before he runs a tight fist up and down it once. Harry’s hips buck forward to the touch of their own accord, and suddenly his resolve is a lot harder to maintain. 

“L-Louis, please tell me what I should d—ah!” he cries out, his hands immediately flying to grab fistfuls of Louis' hair as he suddenly and expertly deep throats him, taking him all at once without any preparation or warning. Harry can feel himself hit the back of Louis' throat, and his eyes screw shut as an intense wave of lust crashes into him, clouding his vision and shattering his resolve completely. Louis stays like that for a while, Harry buried to the hilt in his mouth, and when he swallows around Harry’s length, it’s a good thing the pier is abandoned because the sound Harry lets out is enough to attract the attention of anyone standing nearby outside. Louis pulls away at that, only sucking lightly on Harry’s tip as he catches his breath, and Harry let’s out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his eyes flying open, but still refusing to look down at Louis. “There’s no need to be a little shit,” he says, suddenly angry, a delayed reaction. He knows exactly why Louis did what he did, it was to shut him up. And Harry doesn’t appreciate that. 

He fixes his gaze into a glare before he looks down at Louis, which turns out to be the wrong decision, as Louis just angelically looks back up at him, his blue eyes full of innocence despite the fact that he has Harry’s cock in his mouth. He bats his eyelashes a few times, before Harry narrows his eyes, and jerks his hips away from Louis, pulling his length out of Louis' mouth. He relishes in the look of disappointment on Louis' face, holding his head back forcefully with one hand. “I’m just trying to ask you a question,” he says accusingly. 

Louis lazily lifts his head, his eyes narrowed, his expression exuding an aura of annoyance, and suddenly, he’s standing up, and walking past Harry. Harry’s eyes pop as he spins around, immediately wanting to retract his statement, because even though he’s annoyed, the last thing he wants is for Louis to leave without finishing what he’s started. He opens his mouth to apologize, no matter how badly it’ll burn his tongue to do so, but before he can say anything, Louis turns back around, heading back in the direction of Harry. He has something in his hand, but just as Harry opens his mouth to ask him what it is, Louis' hand is flying in the direction of his face and suddenly a wad of fabric is being shoved inside of his mouth. Harry instinctually bites down on it, and it’s far enough in that he can’t spit it out without use of his hands. Before he can use those to rip the cloth out however, Louis grabs his wrists, and pins them to his sides as he falls to his knees. Harry is thoroughly offended, but also very turned on, and though Louis is using some strength to keep his arms pinned down, Harry isn’t resisting much. “Harry, just shut-up and let me blow you,” Louis says, his eyes flickering up to meet Harry’s in the brown dappled light. Harry swallows roughly, mouth dry because of the fabric, but he nods just the same. 

A flash of seduction crosses Louis' eyes as he chuckles, keeping his eyes locked with Harry’s as he leans his head down to catch Harry’s throbbing length in his mouth, not using his hands either. Harry tries to keep his eyes open as Louis wraps his lips around his length and sucks, flicking his tongue over the slit and being purposely sloppy and messy as he takes more and more of Harry into his mouth. About halfway along though, and Harry can’t help but screw his eyes shut, tears of pleasure leaking out of the corners as he bites down hard on the gag, a low growl exiting from his chest. Louis picks up the pace then, using the noises Harry’s making as encouragement. He sheathes his teeth and sinks completely down onto Harry’s erection, swallowing around the head, the tightening of his throat making Harry’s fingers splay out as they stay in place at his sides. His chest is rising and falling rapidly as the lust pools in his stomach. 

Louis drags a flat tongue back up the underside of Harry’s arousal, releasing him from the wet warmth of his mouth as he sucks in large gulps of air, his tongue swirling around the head, lapping at the pre-cum. Louis tilts his head, looking up once again at Harry as he licks along the side of his cock, featherlight, teasing. A violent shiver runs through Harry as he feels himself approaching his high. He moans loudly into the gag, wanting so badly to vocalize, but not being able to. Louis chuckles, his lips kissing the tip as he gives it a little flick of his tongue. “I want you to come all over my face, can you do that for me?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly. 

Harry’s entire body trembles as Louis' lips ghost over his head once again, and he nods violently, squeezing his eyes shut as the lust builds up in his stomach and his thoughts begin to scatter. Louis moves his face, letting Harry’s head drag across his cheekbones and brush his eyes, and Harry lets out a rather pathetic whimper as Louis pulls his face away. It’s momentary though, just so that he can remove a hand from one of Harry’s wrists and use it to hold Harry’s cock where he wants it. The feeling of his fingers around him coupled with the feeling of Louis tapping the head of his arousal against his tongue is enough to send him over the edge. He doesn’t watch, but he comes hard, all over Louis' face, his legs shaking as his hands unconsciously grab at nothing, reaching up and dragging down against the wall, ecstasy washing over him. 

He opens his eyes as the initial intensity wears off, and he looks down at Louis, somehow still turned on as he sees the streaks of white across his usually clear face. His eyes are closed shut against it, and as he runs his tongue along his lips and collects some of the mess, bringing his tongue back in, it only sends Harry right back into that pool of erotica, albeit a lot less intense now that he’s coming down from his orgasm. “Mm, you taste good,” Louis purrs, licking his lips once again. Harry, eager to move on, reaches up and pulls the gag from his mouth, all of his questions put on the back burner, and he uses it to wipe away the rest of the mess from Louis' face, tossing it to the side when he’s finished. 

Even though he knows Louis is perfectly capable of standing up on his own, Harry helps him out, bending down slightly and looping his arms underneath Louis', pulling him up like a child. Louis narrows his eyes slightly in curiosity at the rather affectionate gesture, but he keeps his mouth shut as Harry drops to his knees, prepared to give Louis his turn. As he undoes Louis' jeans, he almost thinks to gag Louis as well, just to get back at him, but he decides against it, wanting to hear his voice more than not. 

As he’s pulling down Louis' jeans, he’s surprised when Louis speaks up, voice steady despite the fact that Harry’s breath is blowing hot across his now-exposed erection. His hands rest loosely on Harry’s shoulders, and he isn’t looking down, he’s looking up and away, the only view Harry gets being his jawline and below. “How good of friends are you and Liam?” he asks, the question completely throwing a wrench in Harry’s focus. He pulls a face of utmost confusion as he leans away, completely distracted and almost enough to turn him off entirely. “What? Why are you asking?” he asks, his voice loud enough to force Louis to look down at him. He does, his blue eyes shimmery and almost—it can’t be—jealous? Harry doesn’t get a chance to get a good look though, because almost instantaneously Louis is shaking his head, tightening his grip on Harry’s shoulders and roughly pulling him forward, to where his lips collide with Louis' length. “Forget it,” he says. “Suck,” 

 

 

The days kind go by in a blur after that Friday. The creature that is paranoia crawls off of Harry’s back around the third week, going off to plague some other poor soul, and Harry can’t say he misses it at all. He feels freer, lighter, like he has the world on his fingertips and nothing can take that away from him. He walks with a confidence, a confidence one only gains when they’re getting laid on an every-other-day basis. He smiles more, talks to more people, even focuses better in class. 

He still hasn’t gone on that hiking trip with Liam, and it’s not because he canceled, it’s because Liam did. Harry can’t really say he’s upset about it, because he’s not. How could he be upset? He’s getting to fuck one of the prettiest boys he’s ever laid eyes on with no strings attached, he has no reason to be sad. His grades are even improving along with his happiness, it’s the literal greatest turn of events, and it’s almost giving him whiplash. He’s just learned not to think too much, to just live in the moment, do what makes him feel good, and worry about everything else later. 

The further he and Louis go in their agreement, the more adventurous they get. As they learn each other’s bodies and what they each like, respectfully, it gets easier. There’s less hesitation, less awkward moments of silence as the other tries to figure out what to do next, and there’s no shortage of imagination on either of their parts. Harry never thought he’d participate in some of the more illustrious activities he has as of late, and never with a sixteen-year-old boy nonetheless. The things that Louis convinces him to do should be illegal, but the way they make Harry feel, he’s hardly complaining. It’s always on the tip of his tongue to ask Louis just how he finds out about the things he asks of him, but he never does ask any questions. Because that would be in breach of the agreement. 

There are no questions, just sex. No feelings, just sex. No relationship, just sex. Just sex. Those two words that have come to dominate the forefront of Harry’s mind late at night. It’s just sex. That’s all it is, and he’s okay with that. Of course he’s okay with that, why would he want it to be something more? He doesn’t want a relationship with Louis, he isn’t sure he wants a relationship with anyone period. He isn’t sure if that’s because he’s not attracted to the idea of a committed, loving relationship, or if maybe he just doesn’t want to give up what he has with Louis. How often does one stumble across free sex with no obligations? Hardly ever, that’s right. 

They manage to remain surprisingly inconspicuous, garnering the attention of nobody and keeping any suspicions at bay. Harry isn’t quite sure how Louis does it what with his notorious reputation as the school slut, but he never hears his own name whispered in the hallways. He only hears Louis', a mystery boy, but nothing so specific that it causes the paranoia to latch back onto Harry. Harry isn’t sure if that’s just his mind playing tricks on him and purposefully blocking out anything that would be damning, or if he truly doesn’t worry anymore. Regardless, he hasn’t found anyone staring at him as of late, and even his best friend has no earthly idea as far as he can tell, so he doesn’t waste any time thinking about it. 

The fourth week in, things get a little bit interesting. 

It’s about three weeks until Christmas break, and the duo have been meeting almost every single day, wanting to get in as much as they can before they’re separated for a good two and a half weeks. Louis and his family are going on a vacation back to see their family in Doncaster, otherwise they ‘wouldn’t see the sun rise’ because they’d just be in bed all break together, which made Harry giddy but also a little be mortified of his family finding him out, so he was pretty relieved when Louis said that that wasn’t going to be happening. 

On the fourth day of the fourth week, they’re in the locker rooms of the west gymnasium, the one that’s hardly ever in use except for exhibition games, of which there isn’t one scheduled for today. The locker room isn’t even really much more than a long stretch of lockers with two tiny showers at the end, designed for temporary, brief use by guest teams. It’s off of to the side, shoved in the corner of the gym really, the perfect place for hook-ups, drug deals, and other illicit activities. The drug deals take place on Tuesdays—something that Louis is also quite familiar with—and the teacher/student relations occur on Wednesdays, so he and Harry are safe to do what they want without worrying about being caught. 

That being said, they still chose the shower cubicle in the far corner, where the row of lockers are partially blocking the view that can be seen through the window. Louis is particularly eager today, his brow knit as he throws his backpack off to the side and licks his lips as he rakes his eyes up and down Harry’s body, which is still fully clothed. Harry detects Louis' urgency early on, and is curious, wondering why he’s so hyper all of a sudden. It’s usually him who’s hyper, and Louis has to force him to slow down. “Got somewhere to be?” he asks, blinking at Louis as he leans casually against the tiled walls, deciding to be a bit of a tease. He’s in no rush, he isn’t even hard yet, he can wait a bit. 

Louis lifts his eyes to meet Harry’s, narrowing them into a hateful glare as he pulls his shirt roughly over him and lets it fall to the floor, stepping over it and reaching for Harry’s own shirt. Harry stands up at that, catching Louis' wrists and lifting them up and behind his back, moving forward and pushing his slender body against the tile divide as he smirks. It’s a role reversal again, as it’s usually Louis who is doing the smirking. But now, Louis isn’t smirking at all. He’s fuming, his lips pressed into a tight line as he looks up at Harry, the tendons in his neck standing out as he glares. “Hm?” Harry hums, tilting his head as he grinds his hips down against Louis'. 

Louis' glare falters just a bit as pleasure flashes through them, but he quickly regains his composure and the icy hate is evident once again. He struggles slightly against Harry’s strong grip, but he really only succeeds in creating more friction between them. “I’ve just had a rough day,” he finally spits, actually forcibly pushing back against Harry, enough to get them both to stand up straight up again. Harry let’s his hands release Louis' wrists as he wipes the sassy expression from his face and actually looks at Louis for a moment. He sometimes forgets that Louis is so young, that he’s just a student, that he’s a person. He never thinks of Louis ‘having rough days’ or even really having a life outside of the time that Harry sees him. Which is entirely ridiculous, of course he has a life, it’s just difficult for Harry to think about, because he’s so dissociated Louis from that spectrum of humanity. 

He searches Louis' eyes, trying to find any sign of distress, or even depression, but before he can get a good look, Louis catches him, and his eyes pop before narrowing to slits and he roughly grabs Harry’s chin and forces him to look away. “Don’t give me your pity, Harry, give me your cock,” he hisses, yanking his hand down. Harry unlocks his jaw as he turns his head back, wincing a bit as his neck pops. He reaches a hand up to touch his chin, feeling the crescent indentations of Louis' fingernails, and suddenly he doesn’t really care what’s bothering Louis. Exhaling slowly, he pulls his shirt off, fully aware of Louis' eyes on him, and when he lets the fabric fall away, he isn’t surprised to see the sultry look has returned. Louis pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he lets his eyes wander, and Harry rolls his eyes at how Louis reacts the same way every single time, the same movements. He’s come to memorize them. 

Louis catches Harry staring, and the corners of his lips tip upward as he chuckles, sauntering forward. He reaches a hand out to touch the bottom of Harry’s chin as he slowly circles him, Harry following the movement until they make a one-eighty, Louis' back to the wall of the shower. He keeps his finger on Harry’s chin as he grins evilly up at him, using his other hand to tousle his hair. “I’ve had a rough day, Connie,” he pouts then, pushing out his lower lip teasingly. He runs his fingers through Harry’s hand again as his other hand falls to trace his collarbones. “Make me feel better,” he whines, stretching out his voice and sounding mesmerizingly innocent. Harry feels his mouth water as he moves forward, and Louis glides backwards, like a dance almost, until his back hits the tiled wall. Harry locks his jaw as Louis raises his eyebrows, batting his eyelashes like a child, his hand dipping even lower to Harry’s abs, which immediately tense up at his touch. 

Louis' eyes darken at that, the innocence washing away as he stops messing with Harry’s hair and settles his hand on the back of his neck. He attempts to pull Harry’s face down to his, but Harry resists his pull, relishing in the flash of surprise in those blue eyes. He presses his lines into a tight line as he tries pulling Harry’s mouth to his again, but this time, when Harry resists again, he sees a flash of frustration, and he chuckles. Before Louis can get a syllable out, Harry reaches his hands up and grips the sides of Louis' arms, harshly spinning him around and pressing him up against the wall, one hand moving to grip his hip, the other buried in his hair, pushing his face against the wall. Louis' head is turned to where it’s his cheek pressed against the tiles, and he chuckles, eyes trying to look to the side at Harry, his hands flat against the wall, bracing himself against it. 

“Are you going to fuck me against the wall?” he breathes, smiling widely despite the positioning of his face. Harry doesn’t verbally answer, instead using his actions to answer for him. He presses the length of his body against Louis', grinding down on his ass, his hand on his hip gripping it tighter, nails close to piercing the skin but not quite. Louis moans, his eyes fluttering shut as his nails drag down the tiles and his hands clench into fists. “That’s h-hot,” he gasps, rubbing his thighs together in a bid for friction. Harry repeats the motion a few times, moving to where his lips hover near Louis' ear, and he doesn’t say anything, he just lets his warm breath tickle the sensitive skin. It seems to pull something out of Louis, because he presses his ass back against Harry’s crotch eagerly, needy. Harry’s eyes widen at the forwardness, and he quickly brings a hand down to hit Louis' hipbone. Louis lets out a little squeak, his head snapping so quickly he’s able to force Harry’s hand to fall away. 

Their eyes lock in that moment, Louis' dark and excited, Harry’s bright and frustrated. They kind of get lost in each other’s gazes for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for Louis to break off the gaze and leave Harry staring at the side of his head again, as he rested it back against the wall, exhaling loudly and shutting his eyes. Harry, momentarily distracted, blinks furiously and shakes his head as he tries to return back to that blissful state of mind where the only thing he focuses on his sex. In an attempt to achieve that, he pushes Louis' skinny jeans down to where they’re bunched around his ankles, and doesn’t hesitate before yanking his briefs down too. He makes a mental note that they’re fancy Calvin Kleins—a small little hint into Louis' personal life, he must be somewhat wealthy—before pressing his clothed crotch back against Louis' bare ass, reaching a hand around to wrap around his erect shaft. 

Louis' eyes fly open as Harry squeezes him, his hips naturally bucking forward into his hand. Harry’s other hand sidles up the side of Louis' torso, circling around to the front to run a flat thumb over his nipple, tweaking it a bit as he continues to pump his length, letting the pre-cum stain his fingers. Louis let’s his hands fall from the wall as he reaches behind him to latch his fingers around Harry’s hipbones, and he leans his entire body away from the wall and instead against Harry, throwing his head back to rest on Harry’s shoulder as he gasps, Harry increases his strokes, rotating his wrist as he approaches the base every time. He guides his other hand to the left side of Louis' chest, stopping and letting it rest right over his heart. It thumps rapidly into his hand, somehow turning Harry on even more and causing him to squeeze Louis' cock tighter. “Fuck!” Louis cries out in pleasure, one hand sliding upward to grip the short hair on Harry’s neck. 

Harry smiles a bit at Louis' enjoyment, pulling his earlobe into his mouth and sucking gently, humming softy as Louis' whimpers and gasps grow louder and more closer together, his heart beating even fast against Harry’s hand, his abdomen muscles tensing and relaxing with every breath. He’s close, he knows that. Harry is all intent on letting Louis come then and there, knowing that he can get just as much pleasure from Louis' mouth than his ass, so it’s not that much of a sacrifice for him, but his plans change when Louis speaks up, barely intelligible. “S-stop!” he exclaims, eyes screwed tightly shut as he actually, physically grabs Harry’s wrist and forces him to stop his ministrations. Harry does as is asked of him, raising his eyebrows as he removes his hand from Louis' heart. “Stop? Why stop?” he asks, genuinely curious. Louis opens his eyes, turning his head—skin glistening with sweat—to look at Harry. He swallows audibly as he pants, using Harry entirely for support. “I w-want you inside of me,” he says, eyes piercing Harry’s. Harry stares right back into them, into those two little blue galaxies, and he feels the lust pool in his stomach. “Okay,” he says, stepping away from Louis and letting him stand on his own. He doesn’t for long, leaning back against the wall as he breathes heavily. 

Harry reaches up and pulls the blue shower curtain around the front and side of the cubicle, not that anyone is going to walk in, he just prefers some semblance of privacy. He hastily pulls down his pants, kicking them and his cheap Fruit Of The Loom underwear into the same pile as Louis' clothes, but not until after he pulls the condom and little tube of lube from his pockets. Louis told him around the second week that it’s the top’s job to provide these two necessities, and while it mortified Harry to waltz into the local drug store and purchase them, it was a small sacrifice, and he went for broke, buying as much as possible so he wouldn’t have to return any time soon. He tears the aluminum, plucking the condom out and rolling it over his length, biting his lip as the simple movements send waves of arousal through him. 

He then squirts some lube onto his fingers, shuffling forward and reaching down to Louis' ass, fingers knowing just where to go. Louis helps by spreading his legs, his breath coming in short little spurts as he watches Harry intently, as much as he can, that is. Harry avoids his eyes as he presses one finger against Louis' entrance, hesitating just a second before slipping it inside. Almost immediately Louis clenches around it, letting out a low moan at having something inside of him, even if it’s just one finger. Harry pumps it slowly in and out for a moment, before Louis huffs and he adds a second finger. He curls them upward just the way he knows Louis likes, and he smirks at the noise Louis produces, a loud one that bounces off of the walls and reverberates back to his ears. He decides to wait until Louis speaks up again, driving his fingers into him harshly, adding a third one not long after. 

Louis' legs are shaking with pleasure, his moans borderline annoying and adorable at this point, and Harry silently sighs, waiting for Louis to tell him to stop again. He curls his fingers upward again, pressing all three of them against Louis' front, and that does the trick, causing Louis' eyes to fly open and his jaw to drop in a not-so-silent scream. “Harry! Just fuck me already!” he says, a little bit of poison seeping into his tone. Harry finally stills his hand, his wrist aching as he removes his fingers, laughing loudly as he applies some lube to his own cock, giving it a few sure strokes before lining his tip up with Louis' prepped hole. He grits his teeth, groaning as he pushes his head in, breaching the tight inner ring of muscle, taking his time slowly pushing the rest of the way in. Louis twitches around him, adjusting despite the slow pace, providing Harry with plenty of ecstasy. He maintains a tight grip on his length to force himself to be teasingly slow, even though he wants so badly to just buck his hips forward. 

Louis groans in frustration, trying to push back against Harry’s hips, but Harry stops him, pushing him back with his free hand, digging his nails in this time. Louis lets out a pathetic whimper, ducking his head but not moving any more. Harry is about three quarters of the way in, when something catches his attention, and his head snaps up, looking to left, which doesn’t provide him with any information because he only sees the shower curtain blocking his view. But he can hear. 

I told you that this was the week things got interesting. 

Louis' head snaps up too, his loud breathing suddenly silencing as he looks in the same direction as Harry, and gets the same results. “Someone’s here,” Harry hisses, making to pull out of Louis, but Louis reaches a hand behind him to grab Harry’s hand, stopping him. “Don’t you dare,” he replies, his eyes still staring intensely at the shower curtain, ears perked as he listens. Harry tenses his jaw as he too listens, trying not to focus on the fact that Louis is still adjusting around his cock. 

Sure enough, he hears the voices again. It’s two, and he recognizes their accents almost immediately. “What the hell are Zayn and Niall doing in here?” he spits, barely audible. Louis shushes him, digging his nails into his hip bone as he leans a bit closer to the curtain, listening closely. Harry decides to do the same. “Do you have the right amount of money?” Niall asks, his voice sounding strangely different to its usual chipper that Harry is used to hearing in the cafeteria. “Yeah, of course,” Zayn answers, his voice calm and steady. There’s a bout of silence in which Harry can imagine Niall taking Zayn’s money and counting it, putting it in his pocket. “Okay, it’s right over here, and you said you wanted two ounces, right?” he inquires. Harry’s eyes go wide as he realizes what’s taking place, and his jaw drops, but before he can let out a breath, Louis rolls his hips back against him and he has to snap his jaw shut before something much worse than a gasp escapes his lips. He catches the tail-end of one of Louis' smirks, before his expression returns to one of seriousness. 

“Yeah, thank you for hooking me up,” Zayn says, terrifyingly close, to the point where it makes Harry flinch, accidentally thrusting his hips forward and causing Louis to let out a groan, and not a quiet on at that. Harry eyes widen as he panics, lifting his hands and going to clamp one over Louis' mouth, but Louis swats them away, his face pale, but not entirely worried. That is, until Niall speaks again. “Hold on, I think someone’s here, in the showers,” he says, and Harry about has a heart attack, wriggling against Louis, who keeps him pushed inside of him, clenching around his length, which makes Harry feel pleasure over the fear, and confuses him. 

Footsteps get louder until they stop right in front of the shower curtain, and the only thing separating Louis and Harry from the eyes of Niall Horan is a thin piece of fabric. Harry feels like his heart is about to stop, his blood running cold as he realizes that this is it. This is it, Niall is going to find him out, and everyone is going to know that he’s Louis Tomlinson’s fuck buddy. They’re gonna know, and they’re gonna judge, and it’ll ruin him, and he won’t be a secret anymore, and everything is gonna fall apart. “Who’s there?” Niall asks, voice loud, and Harry let’s out a little whimper of despair. However, Louis clamps his hand over his mouth and roughly pushes his torso back, bending at the waist just a bit so that Harry is closer to the other side of the shower. 

Harry watches in complete shock as Louis pulls the curtain back just barely enough to uncover his face, the angle impossible for Niall to see anything, especially not with Harry and Louis both bent at opposite angles. Which isn’t doing much in helping them stay unstimulated, Louis' ass pressed harshly against Harry’s hips, resulting in his cock being buried to the hilt inside of him. He has to say, he’s thoroughly impressed at how composed Louis sounds when he speaks. He can’t say for sure that his facial expressions aren’t giving him away, but based on voice alone, he’s hiding it very easily. “Niall! Hey mate, what are you doing here?” he says brightly, the contrast to the tone of voice he usually uses with Harry throwing Harry for a loop. Does he always sound like that? Or does he always sound sultry and this voice is his fake? 

“Oh! Louis, uh, I could ask you the same thing,” Niall replies, sounding genuinely surprised. Louis laughs, his hand gripping the shower curtain so tightly his knuckles are white. He clenches his muscles around Harry’s cock once, and whether that was intentional or not, Harry cannot know, so he just clenches his mouth shut and tries not to make any noise despite how good it feels. “I’m just taking advantage of the free showers, I worked up quite the sweat in the gym today,” he says, the excuse rolling so easily off of his tongue it comforts Harry for a split-second. Until Niall speaks again. “Showering without the water on?” he asks. 

Harry feels his face pale even more at that, and his grip on Louis' hips turn into a death grip as he begins to freak out again. Apparently, this freaks Louis out too, because there’s a long, awkward silence before he lets out a nervous little laugh, reaching up behind him with his free hand. Harry watches him flail as he tries to figure out what he’s doing, and it’s only seconds before he can stop him that Louis pulls down on the handle to the shower head, and it takes all of Harry’s self-control not make any noises as freezing cold water is dumped directly on top of him, only barely spraying Louis' back. He manages to kick their clothes out of the way just in time, into the corner, where they’re misted on, but not completely soaked. What the hell is Louis thinking? “I was getting there, Ni, don’t rush me,” he says sweetly. “Now can you wrap up your drug deal please, I’d like some privacy,” He’s clearly trying to wrap it up now, and Harry knows exactly why. 

Him being buried balls deep inside of him combined with the slickness of the water and the fact that Harry had started unconsciously rolling his hips against Louis' ass, the stimulation is probably becoming too much. Niall doesn’t say anything for a moment, before he groans, breaking off into laughter. “You’re going to jerk off, aren’t you?!” he cries, laughing harder. Ironically, Louis tightens around Harry then. He laughs too, and it almost, just almost sends Harry over the edge, the slight twitching and gentle thrusts the shakes of Louis' body provide him with provide him with such a new stimulation, it takes all of his self-control to not come right then and there. He rapidly blinks the now-warm water out of his eyes, which does nothing as it just continues to run down his face. 

“You caught me,” Louis says, his persona that Harry is familiar finally peeking through in his nonchalant tone and the fact that he isn’t embarrassed at being called out. Suddenly Zayn, who has been silent this entire time, pipes in, chuckling lowly. “You really do own up to your label, don’t you Tomlinson?” he says slyly. Upon hearing Zayn’s voice, Harry feels a fear again, because he’s still not entirely sure where he stands with Zayn. He hasn’t forgotten that seemingly offhand comment from almost a month ago, and it scares him. It scares him badly. Louis shrugs his shoulders, not saying anything, most likely just smiling at the duo. “Okay, well, we’re finished here anyway, so we’ll give you some privacy,” Niall says, sighing, and Louis just nods. Harry listens for the footsteps to fade, which is made a little bit difficult by the running water, but soon enough, he hears nothing, and Louis must see nothing, because he finally leans back up and throws his back against Harry’s chest, letting out a loud sigh. 

“Fucking finally,” he says, reaching a hand up to caress Harry’s cheek as he finally begins to move. Harry, still slightly frozen with fear from the entire ordeal, chooses to ignore it momentarily by letting the ecstasy of being inside Louis distract him. He doesn’t say anything, mostly because he can’t form proper sentences, and he just let’s his instincts take over, jerking up into Louis, pushing them both back up against the wall and out of the stream of water. Their slick bodies slide against each other, Harry’s wet hair hanging in his eyes, which he roughly pushes to the side as he fucks up into Louis. They’re both extremely close, what with all the stimulation they’ve already felt, and it’s not long before Louis is reaching around to tug at his length, his body repeatedly being pushed up against the wall as Harry’s hips thrust sporadically, harshly into him. 

He comes first, his legs shaking as he buries himself deep in Louis, spilling into the condom. “Holy shit, Louis,” he cries out, moving his hands to grip Louis' shoulders, ducking his head to rest his forehead on his shoulder. Louis doesn’t take much longer after that, his muscles convulsing as he whimpers, his arm fully extended up, his hand grabbing at the wall, his slight muscles highlighted by the water. His other hand pumps his length so quickly it’s a blur, and soon, he’s coming too, shoulders hunching as he comes, his breath ragged and uneven. “H-Harry!” he cries out, his orgasm causing his legs to buckle. Harry catches him before he can fall, stepping back and sliding out of him. However, Louis seems content to keep falling, and so Harry guides them slowly down to sit on the flower of the shower, backing up until his back hits the opposite wall and he cradles Louis against his chest, his back to his torso. The stream of water lands between their legs, and Louis heaves as he collapses against Harry, eyes sliding shut. 

“That was fun,” he breathes. Harry stares at the wall, crinkling his brow. “That wasn’t fun, that was terrifying,” he replies. Louis opens his eyes, laughing slightly as he turns around, lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s. “You don’t mean th—,” he starts to say, but as he locks eyes with Harry, he must detect the fear in them, because suddenly his own eyes flood with worry, and he turns completely around, to where his sitting on his knees between Harry’s legs. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?” he asks, lifting up his hands to cup Harry’s face. Harry stares at him a moment, before turning his head away, causing Louis' hands to fall as he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s none of your concern,” he mutters. He can feel Louis' eyes on him still as he turns his face back to look at him, and he’s surprised to see that same worry in his eyes. It’s not a good look for Louis, he doesn’t like it. It makes him too…human. 

“Harry, if you’re scared, let me help reassure you,” he says quietly, his voice soft and sincere. Harry suddenly feels an urge to cry, his lips pressing into a tight line as he looks at Louis, and he suddenly is human, an actual person capable of feeling compassion and sympathy for another. But that’s not what Harry wants to see. He doesn’t want to make Louis into a person, otherwise that ruins their whole agreement. And so he shakes his head, standing up and shutting off the water. “No, you said no feelings, and that means no worrying about me,” he says, a bit harsher than intended, but the words ring true nonetheless. He bends down to collect his clothes from the pile, and quickly puts them on, not looking back at Louis, who remains on the floor, unresponsive. 

Harry doesn’t even stay to arrange their next meeting, knowing that Louis will find him on his own time. Instead, he just grabs his things, and leaves, hoping that nobody is lingering around outside who can see him. He still has that urge to cry, and it doesn’t go away even when he gets to the car. He quickly cranks up the music, and lets the soothing voice of Matty distract him from his woes. 

Back in the locker room, Louis stays on that shower floor, Harry’s words somehow weighing him down more than ever before. 

 

 

They’re going slow this time, and in a bed nonetheless. Not one of their beds, because their houses are strictly off-limits for such scandalous activities. They’re at one of the nicer hotels in town, and Harry doesn’t know how Louis is able to afford one nights worth of a room, but he has no reason to know. He doesn’t know anything about Louis' personal life. Which, he’ll admit, kind of bothers him, but he doesn’t let it get to him, because Louis is in the same position as him. He doesn’t know anything about Harry’s life outside of their meetings, and what little comes through when they see each other in school off and on. 

It’s nice, not having to worry about being caught, being able to be as loud as they wanted, though neither is being very vocal this time around. Harry likes it better this way, he thinks, slow and gentle, rather than fast and rough. He feels Louis' hands all over him, but no pain, no nails piercing his skin, no pinches, just his soft palms caressing the muscles of his back. They’re moving so slow they can’t even work up a sweat, so Louis' sweet floral smell fills Harry’s nose at an almost constant rate, and when he brushes his lips over his neck, he can almost taste the cologne. It’s as if they’re making love, rather than fucking, and it’s putting Harry in a blissfully aware state of mind. He’s not as lost as he usually is, he’s able to focus more on Louis, on the sounds he’s making, the way his body reacts to the slow, rhythmic thrusts of Harry’s hips. 

There’s a lot of kissing this time, too, their lips dancing together, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths, exploring as if for the first time, his taste addicting. Harry pulls away from one of those kisses, breathless, his eyes instantly searching for Louis' in the darkness, and finding them rather easily. They’re very bright in the moonlight, their luminescence mesmerizing to Harry. They’re dusty with lust, but not consumed with it, and Harry likes that. He likes seeing a bit of the innocence that lies deep within Louis. He likes it in this moment, I should say. He doesn’t like it any other time. He doesn’t want to see these eyes in any other situation. When they’re going fast, he doesn’t want to see this gentleness. He doesn’t want to be reminded of how he’s just using Louis for his body, and how Louis is just using him for his body. 

Because staring into his eyes, watching as they crinkle slightly with every roll of Harry’s hips, it makes Harry want to kiss Louis again. It makes him want to collect him up in a hug and never let him go. And he knows that’s wrong, and he knows that once he’s removed himself from this setting, those feelings will disappear. But he can’t seem tear his eyes away. He’s trapped in that precious gaze, and it only intensifies as Louis' jaw drops, and he lets out a little whimper, his hands sliding up to grip Harry’s shoulders as his legs lift up and lock around his waist. Harry doesn’t change his speed or his angle, staying slow and steady, which is probably making things a lot worse for Louis. But Louis doesn’t complain, he just maintains eye contact, his hands moving to clasp behind Harry’s neck. His mouth is still open, little puffs of minty breath hitting Harry’s nose, and slowly, slowly, his expression crumples as he begins to reach his high. 

“I’m—ah!” Louis breathes, voice cutting off as his body beats him to it, and Harry feels him clench around his length, arching his back, but somehow managing to keep his eyes open and trained on Harry’s. It’s a fascinating thing to watch someone’s eyes as they’re experiencing such an intense physical high. Louis' eyes darken considerably, pupils dilating as a veil of lust falls over his irises, and the corners are suddenly wet with pleasurable tears. Harry wonders if his eyes are beginning to look the same way, because he’s close too. As much as it tortures him, too, he keeps his thrusts just as slow, his lower lip trembling with the growing pool of lust in his stomach. 

Louis keeps staring up at him, the veil of his own lust lifted, and his eyes shining their bright blue once again. They’re pure, void of any sultriness, and Harry wills them to his memory in this moment, because he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see them again. They’re the eyes of a young soul, of someone who is still figuring this world out, and they’re so, so beautiful. Harry usually breaks off the gaze when he comes, but this time he doesn’t. He stares right through into Louis' soul as he comes into the condom, one of the most emotionally intense orgasms of his life. His arms shake with the weight of holding himself up as he rides out his high, one long moan escaping his lips. 

Louis' eyes search his as he lets out a gasp, his arms bending slightly at the elbows, only bringing his face closer to Louis'. Louis swallows, Harry still staring down at him, and when he pulls Harry’s mouth to his, there’s no resistance. Their mouths attach like puzzle pieces, and Harry kisses him like he would kiss a lover, and in the back of his mind, he knows that he shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s wrong. It’s kind of an unspoken rule between them, that once they were finished, they were finished. No kissing, no cuddling, and no falling asleep together. Harry doesn’t mind that, he expects that. They’re just fuck buddies, nothing more, nothing less. He has come to accept that, even though he never really thought he’d ever be able to have sex without feelings. He supposes he’s proving himself wrong now. 

Or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself. 

This time, however, seems to be an exception. Because Louis doesn’t break off the kiss even when Harry pulls out, and makes to move. When he does, Louis just follows with him, never once detaching their lips. They both roll over together, before Harry sits up, cupping Louis' jaw lightly in his hand as their heads move slowly from side to side as they begin to kiss open-mouthed. Louis seems adamant to keep on kissing, but Harry can’t just sit on the bed forever, he needs to get in the shower. He debates breaking off the kiss himself, but he can’t make himself do it. His heart—still thumping rapidly from post-orgasm bliss—speeds up even more as he stands up, and Louis copies the movement, moving fluidly back towards the hotel room bathroom, his hands falling to rest on Harry’s hipbones. 

Harry ultimately decides that he’s perfectly content to just keep kissing Louis, even as he disposes of the condom, and turns on the shower. He’s pretty sure that Louis is just going to keep kissing him up until they get into the shower, but he suddenly pulls away, and Harry has to quickly wipe the look of disappointment on his face. Louis' lips are plump from the pressure applied to them, and very pink, and he looks absolutely gorgeous, and his pupils are blown out, and cheeks a dusty maroon, and Harry is honestly dazzled. He’s expecting Louis to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead he just looks at Harry for a moment, before stepping past him and into the shower. Harry turns around, watching as Louis stands right under the stream of hot water, closing his eyes and lifting his head towards it. The water cascades down his torso, washing away all that’s not supposed to be there, and highlighting his slender muscles, making him look even hotter than before. 

Harry bites his lip, knowing that joining Louis in the shower has to be crossing some line, but then he realizes that they’re kind of crossing all the lines tonight, so he pushes the doubt away, and climbs in, too, standing in front of Louis, the warm water barely misting him. Louis must feel him standing so near, because he lowers his head, and opens his eyes, blinking the droplets out of his eyes to better peer at Harry. They engage yet again in a staring contest, just studying each other’s features, and somehow, Harry ends up massaging shampoo through Louis' scalp, and he doesn’t miss the soft little smile on Louis' face as he closes his eyes and lets him enjoy the moment. 

It’s when they’re standing in the bathroom, wrapping towels around their waist, that the first word is spoken. “Are you still afraid?” Louis asks, his voice hoarse from having not been used much in the last few hours. Harry freezes, his hands still in his hair as he twists to look at Louis, who is looking back at him, that familiar worry creasing his forehead. Harry’s mouth suddenly goes dry as he thinks about the question. Is he still afraid? He hasn’t seen Zayn nor Niall much this past week, except for a few times, and they both acted as if they didn’t know anything. They didn’t look at Harry weirdly, not even Zayn, who would have the most reason to. Harry supposes it’s all just paranoia, his being scared, but does he still feel it? 

The answer is yes, but he doesn’t want Louis worrying over him. That’s not how their deal works. Worry is a feeling, and those are illegal. And so he decides to just lie. Louis isn’t a mindreader, and Harry has always been fairly good at hiding feelings if he wants to, so he hopes that he’s convincing. “No, I’m not,” he says simply, looking away and shaking out his hair the rest of the way, before padding back to the bed, collapsing back onto it and folding his hands over his stomach. He lets his eyes flutter shut, hoping to god that sleep finds him before his thoughts do, as he doesn’t feel like staying up running them through his mind. 

There’s a dip in the bed as Louis lays down too, next to Harry, but about a foot of space between them. It’s an electrified space, the tension cutting Harry’s exposed side like a knife, and he badly wants to reach across and pull Louis against him, but he can’t do that. That’s cuddling, and that’s against the rules. Isn’t it funny, how they both said that this wasn’t going to be like a contract, and yet they have rules to stick by? What does it matter if they do a little post-sex cuddling? That’s normal, it doesn’t have to be motivated by emotion, it can occur just because it’s what humans as animals desire to do. After being that intimate, it’s only natural to want to continue it on a bit even after the fact. But Harry keeps his hands tightly folded, and his eyes squeezed shut, and he tries to block out the sound of Louis' soft breathing, and the feeling of his body so near. 

Being so tightly wound up in his own self-control, Harry about gives himself whiplash when Louis suddenly shoots an arm out and pulls Harry towards him, rather needy. Harry’s eyes fly open as his hands detach and he barely has time to register Louis cuddling against him before it’s already happening, and his heart is already sighing with relief, and he’s already winding his arms around Louis' thin form and snuggling closer to him. His damp hair kind of makes Harry shiver, but the rest of Louis is warm and sweet-smelling and just so close. Harry can see himself getting very used to this. But he shakes those thoughts away as if they’re wasps, because he doesn’t want to get stung. He can’t think about Louis like that. It’s strictly physical. This is just physical. Except it sure doesn’t feel that way. 

“Isn’t this breaking some sort of rule,” he says, not planning on voicing his concerns, but kind of glad that he is. At least it’ll let Louis know that he’s aware of their wrongdoing. Louis doesn’t move or respond at first, his fingers just lightly resting in the valley between Harry’s abs, but eventually he does move, shifting slightly to rest his head next to Harry’s, his lips at his ear, breath ticklish. “Some rules are meant to be broken, love,” he whispers back. 

 

 

Harry feels that there's been a shift in his and Louis' relationship and he isn't sure if the feeling is mutual or if he's okay with it. He's suddenly seeing and thinking of Louis in the context of more of a lover than a fuck buddy. I mean, how else do you explain away what happened last night? They had post-sex intimate interactions, something that they have never done before. They fell asleep on each other, and when they woke up, they had smiled at each other. Smiled. They certainly have never done that, unless it was a smirk or some other naughty variation of a smile.

Harry doesn't dare say anything to bring up a conversation on it all, deciding to just kind of go with the flow, and if something happens, then something happens. He doesn't even allow himself to picture him with Louis in a larger capacity than he's with him now. No, he will not think about holding his hand, about kissing his cheek, about spending time with him outside of the bedroom, fully clothed. Louis and the word 'boyfriend' remind Harry of nails on a chalkboard and it makes him visibly cringe, which is an issue, because Liam is walking right next to him, babbling on about his plans for the upcoming winter holidays.

“Lou and I are meeting my sis—Harry? Are you cold?" he asks, looking over at the taller boy, who looks back over at Liam and blinks, shaking his head in confusion. "No, why?" he asks. Liam raises his eyebrows, apprehension flicking through his bluish eyes. Harry has picked up on Liam's rather excellent observation over the past weeks, and either he's a really great actor or Liam is, because he hasn't said anything and Harry hasn't felt anything, so he literally cannot know if Liam knows. But he decides to just not care. If Liam is truly concerned, he'll speak up. That being said, he always does seem to catch all of Harry's slip-ups, so it's a real mystery on how knowledgeable he is. But it hurts Harry's mind to think about it too much, and he really doesn't care what his best friend thinks of him. "You just shivered," Liam remarks, reaching out a hand to rub it comfortingly on Harry's shoulders.

"Did I?" Harry asks dumbly, creasing his eyebrows. Liam nods, moving his hand around to drape it casually across Harry’s shoulders, a purely platonic gesture. Thankfully, Liam doesn’t continue to question Harry, jumping right back into his babbling, letting Harry’s mind drift and wander as they make their way lazily towards the cafeteria, milling through the light crowd of students lingering at their lockers or talking with friends. Harry stomach grumbles softly and he wonders what his sister packed for him lunch. It’s probably some left over pasta salad from last night’s dinner, and iced tea. Harry really likes iced tea. He wonders if Louis likes iced tea too. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about the kid. 

As he and Liam are walking, they suddenly stop, and it isn’t Harry who does the stopping. It’s Liam. And suddenly, his grip on Harry’s shoulders tightens considerably, and Harry is suddenly scared. “What?” he asks, twisting to look over at Liam, who has his gaze locked on something in the distance. Harry turns his head back, crinkling his brow as he tries to follow Liam’s gaze, down the long hallway, past the heads of those who aren’t attracting attention. Down, down, down, to the two people who Harry instantly knows Liam’s gaze is directed. It’s Louis. Now, under any other circumstance, Liam usually just ignores Louis the rare times he sees him when Harry is with him, and Harry isn’t sure why he’s not doing that right now. He purposefully stopped, he drew Harry’s attention to them, almost as if he wanted Harry to see. Does Liam know something that Harry doesn’t? Or does he know something that Harry doesn’t want him to know? Regardless, he can’t really think that straight because there’s a new creature clinging to his back this time. 

And it’s nails are sunk in deep, and it’s weight is paralyzing, and its breath causes Harry’s eyes to blur. This creature is called jealousy, and it’s ten times worse than paranoia ever was. It infiltrates Harry’s mind, throwing rational thought to the wayside, and making all of his muscles stiffen in pure anger and—there it is—betrayal. That same feeling of betrayal that Harry felt at the prom, a suffocating betrayal, except this time, it’s founded on something. It’s reasonable, it’s justified, and it’s pulling Harry, down, down, down to that dark, dark pool of hatred. Hatred that is bubbling, waiting to be expressed, but currently overshadowed by the jealousy and betrayal. Because Louis is with him again. That Nick kid. He’s with him, and he’s laughing. He’s laughing, and he has his hand on his arm, and Nick is laughing too, and they’re both laughing. 

It’s difficult to fully tell from this distance, but it also appears that Louis is pulling his classic expression. Slightly tilted face, narrowed eyes, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, it’s a look that Harry has seen so much he’s begun associating it with himself. To the point where he viewed the look as one that he and only he was allowed to receive. And so to see it delivered to someone who isn’t him, who isn’t in the position he’s in, it’s infuriating. Louis is sleeping with him, not with Nick, not with anyone else, just him. Jealousy is a white-hot sensation, burning Harry from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes, and it makes him want to do terrible things. It makes him want to stomp right up to Louis and Nick and backhand Nick so quickly he won’t know what hit him. It makes him want to yank Louis away and remind him that he made a deal with Harry, and Harry alone, and if he’s going to flirt so openly with another boy, he better do it somewhere he know Harry won’t ever see. Because Louis is his, and nobody else. He certainly isn’t flirting with other boys, so why the hell does Louis think that he can? 

However, Harry doesn’t get to do either of those things, because he’s being turned around quite roughly by Liam, who leads them quickly away, down the side hallway. Harry’s rational thought returns to him the instant his eyes are torn away from the scene, and he blinks rapidly, trying to get the white spots of jealousy to clear from his vision. They don’t quite disappear, hovering off to the side, but he’s able to pull himself together just enough to not look like a complete wreck in front of Liam, who has stopped them. He drops his arm from Harry’s shoulders, and stands in front of him, peering up at him, concerned. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says quietly, sympathetically almost. Harry’s a bit surprised at his words, but he just shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head a bit to push the images of Louis and Nick away. 

“It’s not a big deal, it’s not he and I are anything,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing. Liam contemplates this for a moment, nodding solemnly, before frowning. “You’re right, but you do have a history, it’s only natural to feel a bit of jealousy,” he remarks. Harry feels his cheeks flush as he reads between the lines and gets the double entendre of what Liam is saying. He doesn’t let himself wonder about why Liam is saying what he’s saying, he just instantly jumps on the denial train, shaking his head and hiking his backpack up on his shoulders. “I don’t have feelings for him, Liam, it was a mistake what happened with him, and I’ve moved on from it,” he says, his voice cold. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s nothing to be concerned about, him and I have no association with each other,” He waits until Liam finally nods, pressing his lips into a tight line and letting his hands fall against his thighs as he exhales slowly. 

However, as Harry says those words, and feels the lie leave a sour taste in his mouth, he’s transported back to last night. Last night, where he and Louis cuddled, had an almost-meaningful conversation, had fallen asleep together and woken up together. What was that? Was it all just a ruse? Just a ploy on Louis' part to get Harry whipped enough to want to stay with him despite his complete lack of compassion for Harry? It hurt Harry to think that Louis would stoop that low, but does it really surprise him? Louis made it crystal clear when they made this deal that there were no feelings, and that he didn’t do relationships. But why the intimacy last night, then? Doesn’t that just contradict everything he’s said? He’s so confusing, and Harry hates that. He hates how he’s making him doubt himself and his feelings, he hates him. But he kind of hates himself more, for letting Louis play him like that. It’s still just a game, isn’t it? 

“Alright, message received,” he says, his voice bitter. Harry feels kind of bad for being so snappy when Liam really was just looking out for him, but it’s not his fault for feeling like Liam knows more than he’s letting on. He about just up and asks him in that moment if he has anything else he wants to say, but then he bites his tongue. He’d rather not know, because then, if he did know something, it would quite literally ruin everything. If someone knew about his and Louis' arrangement—his best friend, at that—Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to continue it. And he doesn’t have it in him to give up what he has with Louis, even if in this current moment he wants nothing more than to strangle the kid with his two bare hands. 

There it is, the hatred. It’s always a bit delayed, isn’t it? 

He and Liam finish the walk to the cafeteria in silence, having to take the long way as a result of Liam’s detour, and when they arrive, they sit down silently, ignoring Lou’s questions, and each other. Harry, because he can’t help it, quickly scans the cafeteria, looking specifically for Louis, but he doesn’t see him. The only people at his usual table are Niall, and strangely, Zayn. Zayn’s a senior, it’s strange to see him sitting with a sophomore, but then again, after that day in the locker rooms, Harry supposes it makes sense. Only he’s not supposed to know that. Because he wasn’t there. Zayn lifts his eyes and catches Harry staring, and quickly winks just as Harry averts his gaze. It’s with a sickening jolt that Harry is once again reminded that he has not just Liam to worry about being in the know. He hasn’t forgotten Zayn’s snide little comment, and he ducks his head as he lets out an exhausted sigh. This is all becoming just a little too much. 

***

He always got too handsy during sex. He has to stop doing that. He has to stop doing what a lover would do. He has to stop looking at Louis, stop memorizing his eyes, stop focusing on the dips in collarbones, or the way his neck arches, he has to stop focusing on Louis in general. He has to just focus on the sex, nothing else. Dissociate himself from Louis entirely, view him as just a body for him to use, because he’s pretty damn sure that that’s how Louis is viewing him. He thought about confronting Louis for flirting with Harry, but he decides against it, not wanting to sound desperate and needy and like he might actual have feelings that were hurt. No, he’s not going to say anything. He’s just going to keep his mouth shut, fuck Louis, and not let any emotion show through. Kind of like their very first time, in the bathrooms, when the only emotion he felt was hatred. Yeah, that’s what he’s going to focus on. 

How much he still fucking hates Louis Tomlinson. He’s kind of forgotten about that. What a perfect time to remember. 

They’re back at the pier. It’s Friday, and misty again, and once again, Harry is early. And this time, the door is locked, which means he’s standing outside on the deck, looking down at the sea, hypnotized by the white caps of the waves, and sea mist spraying in his face and making him smell like salt. It’s freezing, what with being December in Oregon, and his parka just isn’t cutting it, so he’s extremely happy when he sees Louis approaching him, wearing that same turquoise jacket from the last time they were here, giving Harry a strong sense of deja vu. Except this time is going to be different because he’s not going be babbling on the whole time. No, he’s resolved that he’s going to stay completely silent, as unresponsive as possible. He’s aware of what a cock move that is, but he honestly doesn’t give a shit. 

He doesn’t meet Louis' eyes as he fiddles with the lock, just brushing past him into the small building, keeping his back to him as he shrugs off his parka. His gaze is fixed into a glare, his muscles stiff with his resolve, and he presses his lips into a tight line as Louis steps behind him, his breath tickling the skin on the back of his neck. “How do you want it today? Slow? Or fast?” Louis breathes, his hands snaking around Harry’s waist as he presses the length of his body against the back of Harry’s. Almost instantly, a bit pathetically too, Harry’s resolve starts to crack. Because Louis' touch is addicting, like a fire to his ice, and he shivers, clenching his jaw as he remains silent. 

Louis doesn’t seem to pick up on what Harry’s laying out, but that could be because he’s currently kissing his way around Harry’s neck, encircling him slowly. He leaves a trail of butterfly kisses across both of Harry’s collarbones, before finally lifting his eyes to look up at Harry. Harry’s eyes flick down to meet Louis' dark ones, but he quickly looks away, exhaling slowly as Louis' lips brush against his. “Somebody’s being quiet,” he whispers against his lips, before chastely pressing them against Harry’s. Harry, using all of his self-control, does not kiss Louis back. No matter how badly he wants to, he keeps his lips clamped shut tightly, not allowing Louis entrance. It’s a one-sided, extremely awkward kiss, and Louis does pick up on that, because it’s not long after that he pulls away, his eyebrows knit in confusion as he stares up at Harry. 

“Are you mad at me or something?” he asks, his voice annoyed. It’s that annoying little twang in his tone that makes Harry snap. Louis can’t be that fucking oblivious, can he? Narrowing his eyes, Harry huffs, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “Why were you talking to Nick earlier today at school?” he asks, his voice laced with an almost tangible poison. He watches as Louis' eyes widen, a flash of shock crossing them, before they narrow almost as thin as Harry’s, and he takes a step back. “Are you spying on me?” he spits, crossing his own arms, as if to mock Harry. Harry scoffs at that, shaking his head and rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “You were right in the middle of the hallway, Louis, you weren’t exactly hard to spot,” he says. Louis' nostrils flare as he purses his lips, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know why you’re mad about that,” he says. 

Harry pauses, blinking a few times as the anger consumes him and he exhales loudly, huffing almost. “I’m not mad,” he says, very angrily. Louis stares at him, definitely not believing him, before letting out a little laugh, dropping his eyes and shaking his head as he sighs. The action just makes Harry feel absolutely stupid, and so he clenches his fists in anger, a response ready on his lips for whatever Louis has to say. “Harry, we’re not exclusive, you know that,” he says softly. The words stab at Harry like a knife, and it twists, causing his body to flood with that betrayal once again. Those words hurt him, they knock him down, they make him want to cry, and he hates them. He hates Louis for saying them. But most of all, he hates himself for letting them hurt him. 

“Of course I know that!” he replies loudly. “But that doesn’t mean I want to see you hanging all over other guys right in front of me!” He’s breathing loudly, trying his damn hardest not to cry, not to cry, not to cry, because if he cries, then Louis will know. He’ll know, he’ll know, he can’t know. He can’t. Louis seems wholly offended, eyes wide and jaw dropped, and Harry is expecting him to just stomp out, but he doesn’t. He speaks, and suddenly everything changes, very quickly, and Harry’s resolve crashes all around him, like the sky is falling and he can’t dive out of the way in time. 

“It’s not different than you hanging all over Liam!” Louis exclaims, his voice rising to a shout. Harry, completely and utterly caught off-guard, freezes, his eyes popping as his jaw drops. Louis suddenly blushes furiously, and Harry realizes he hasn’t ever seen Louis really blush out of embarrassment before. His cheeks are a deep crimson red, and he expects him to just retract his statement, but he doesn’t, he stands by it, clenching his jaw as Harry responds out of confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about? I am not hanging all over Liam!” he shouts back, wondering where the hell Louis is coming from. He’s suddenly transported back to the last time they were in this setting, and Louis asked about Liam. Has he been keeping tabs on Harry? What the hell is happening? 

“Oh yeah?” Louis spits, raising any eyebrow. “As it so happens, I saw the way he led you away in the hallway, his arm around your shoulders,” Harry gawks at that, his breath leaving him in a gasp as he crunches his face together in confusion. “That was him being a good friend!” he rushes to explain. Louis laughs loudly, a humorless, cold laugh. “Right, well, what about that day in your chemistry class? Where you were rubbing his back? Just a platonic gesture?” he sneers, and when Harry looks into his eyes, he sees real hurt, but he’s too flabbergasted to feel bad. “Yes! It’s called being a good friend, Louis!” he sputters, completely in awe by the fact that Louis has been paying him that much attention. And that he seems to care so much by the fact that Harry spends time with Liam. 

“Why is my being with Liam bothering you?” he asks softly, but apparently it sets off something in Louis, because he quite literally balls his hands into fists and lets down a foot as he yells out his response. “Because I don’t like seeing you around other boys!” His voice rings, the words hanging in the air for a split-second as Harry processes them, and as soon as he does, he let’s his words join Louis' in hovering in the air. “Well, I don’t like seeing you around other boys either!” he cries back. And then they’re just standing there, glaring at each other, breathless, their words resting between them, in the space. So many implications, so many questions, but in the moment, just two boys and their words. 

They glare at each other for a moment, before they both seem to get the same idea, and they lunge at each other, colliding together in the middle, their arms immediately wrapping around each other as their mouths find each other. Harry is overwhelmed, but he doesn’t let himself think. He just lets his hands pull at Louis' hair, and his mouth to move with his. It’s a heated, passionate kiss, one unlike any of the others before, and Harry kind of finds himself getting lost in it. All the anger and betrayal and jealousy wash away with every flick of Louis' tongue, and in this moment, they’re so close, so, so close. Harry wants to just hold him, make him his, nobody else’s. These lips should be Harry’s alone, this boy should be his alone, this precious boy should be his alone. 

They break away for air, sucking in large gasps, and they lock eyes, their hands buried in each other’s hair, and Louis pants, swallowing roughly. “I don’t do relationships,” he says icily. Harry leans forward just slightly, smirking. “Don’t you?” he says back. He flicks his eyes to meet Louis' again, who gulps, blushing for the second time, and shaking his head. “I don’t,” he says, but Harry can both see and hear the uncertainty in his voice, and he smirks again. 

“We’ll see,” he replies, before crashing his lips to Louis'. 

 

 

They’re studying each other’s hands in the dark. Harry is laying on Louis' chest this time, and Louis has one of his hands brought up closer to his face, turning it over and over, tracing the veins on the back of his palm, fitting his fingers between Harry’s, just fiddling with his hand. And Harry loves it. He loves laying on Louis' chest, listening to his heartbeat, he loves this post-sex cuddling almost more than he loves the actual sex, and he doesn’t ever want it to end, just like last time. Because the things said in the darkness are always truthful, as if they’re swimming in a pool of verisimilitude, and he wishes that they could drown in it. To be rid of all doubt or confusion, to know that every word being said is true, it’s bliss. 

Harry is drunk off of Louis' floral scent, and his eyes are heavy, but they can’t stay lying on a bundle of their own clothes in the pier forever, and so he knows that soon, the bliss is going to end. It makes him feel sad, but he knows that it’s a necessary transition. Especially after what expired today, and everything that was said, Harry wants to know what’s going to happen next. Will he and Louis actually consider the possibility of being a couple? Or was their outburst simply because they don’t want the other sleeping with other boys? Harry thinks about a little, as Louis hums a soft melody, and he can’t decide what he wants. Exclusivity in sex, or exclusivity in everything? Does he want to make Louis his in every way or just a physical way? 

There’s a feeling in his gut when he thinks about what it would be like to actually date Louis. It’s certainly on the table now, since Louis felt the need to reiterate his ‘no relationships’ rule and Harry wasn’t hesitant to question it. Where he used to think he felt a shift in their dynamic, now there really is one. They’re not just fuck buddies anymore. But they aren’t friends, they aren’t boyfriends, they aren’t lovers, what are they? They’re confused, that’s what. They’re feeling something that they’ve never felt before. Harry because he’s never had romantic thoughts for a boy, and Louis because he’s never had romantic thoughts for anyone ever. Not that Harry is aware of that. 

There’s also that hatred that Harry used to feel so vibrantly, almost like an eighth color on the end of the rainbow, one that he focused on the entirety of his junior year and the beginning of his senior year, ever since Louis started attending West Monroe. A completely unfounded hatred now that he thinks back on it, stemming from something no more than a sly little smirk Harry’s way the fifth week of his junior year, and from then on it just spiraled out of control as he let it eat away more and more at him. He wonders if perhaps it was his mind’s way of covering up the attraction he felt, if it was his own mind trying to convince him he wasn’t gay—something that he’s still yet to fully address. He wonders a lot of things, but mostly, he wonders if Louis really is open to the idea. He supposes he could just ask, because they exist in the darkness right now, and there are no lies in the darkness. 

“Louis?” he asks quietly, his voice tremulous. Louis doesn’t stop messing with Harry’s hands, answering with a soft little hum deep in his throat. Harry is kind of glad he can’t see Louis' face, snuggling further into his side, shifting to where his ear rests directly over his heart, the steady thudding comforting to him. He could write songs to this beat. “Would you consider being in a relationship with me? Be honest,” he asks, the words feeling foreign on his tongue, words that he never in his entire life ever expected to be directing at Louis Tomlinson, his self-sworn worst enemy, the boy who quite literally caused his life to come crashing down around him. They slip out of his mouth like pearls, rolling down Louis' stomach and leaving a glistening trail. 

Louis' hands freeze in Harry’s at the question, and his breath catches too, his chest momentarily suspended in animation, his heart beating unevenly before he finally exhales and begins to breathe normally again. It’s not a dramatic reaction, it just appears that way to Harry because of his perspective. There’s more silence that follows, in which Harry starts to brace himself for the worst, his mind jumping to conclusions even though he knows how bad that is. Then again, it is better than expecting only the best and not knowing what to do with yourself in the face of such utter disappointment. 

“I can’t, Harry,” Louis finally answers, but it’s a sigh, a sad sigh, and his arms immediately go to wrap around Harry, holding him close as one hand strokes his hair. Harry feels a stab of pain at the answer, but it isn’t like a brick to the forehead or anything, because he’s slightly not surprised with the answer. He is, however, curious as to why Louis is so vehemently against relationships, even when he’s made it clear that he has thought about it once or twice. Or at least as some sort of semblance of feeling for Harry. Otherwise he wouldn’t care about Harry and Liam’s overly touchy-feely friendship which isn’t even that touchy-feely. “Why not?” he asks, his voice soft as he continues listening to Louis' heart. He isn’t on the verge of tears or anything, but there’s definitely a damper on his blissfulness now. Suddenly drowning in this pool of verisimilitude is starting to hurt. 

Louis inhales a lengthy breath, and Harry feels something brush against the top of his head but he doesn’t let himself believe it to be Louis' lips. “You don’t know anything about me, Harry,” he replies quietly, his grip tightening around him. Harry purses his lips, his brow furrowing as he quickly pulls his arms back, adjusting just enough to slip one arm under Louis' torso to connect with his other arm at the side, pulling him impossibly closer. He’s starting to feel himself drift away, and so he clings to Louis like a lifeline. “Then isn’t that reason enough? Isn’t that what dating is? Getting to know one another?” he asks, except it sounds more like a plead and Harry cringes at that, because that’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want to sound needy, like he’s desperate for it, because he’s not. He’s just simply entertaining the idea. He has no worries that they’re sexual deal will still remain intact even if they decide not to take things further, so he comforts himself with that thought. 

Except does he really want to stay in a physical relationship with Louis when he knows that he’ll never be able to have him emotionally? Won’t that just be torture in it’s finest form? Like a recovering alcoholic sitting in a room full of whiskey, or a drug addict sitting in a bathtub full of cocaine, it just doesn’t work that way. But the thought of cutting off any ties to Louis, it makes Harry’s stomach turn, and he doesn’t want to think about it. Which is why he knows he has to convince Louis that venturing into a relationship doesn’t have to be as scary as he thinks it is. At his words, Louis sighs again, his hand traveling down Harry’s cheek and to his jaw, where he cups it, lifting Harry’s head up to where they’re looking into each other’s eyes. And Louis' eyes are so sad, they make Harry sad, and make his heart ache for Louis, and really eye contact just kind of makes things a lot worse. Louis' eyes are what give him away any time he’s not putting up a mask. Once that mask falls away, one glance into his eyes tells whoever is looking the secrets of the universe, and Harry knows without Louis having to speak what he’s thinking. 

“I just don’t want to hurt you, Harry, please try and understand that,” he says, his voice full of broken glass. He strokes Harry’s cheek, before resting his head back against his chest where it was. Harry lets out his own sigh as he swallows the sadness and ultimate rejection, deciding not to press the issue anymore. He can’t argue with Louis not wanting to hurt him. That’s such an incredibly mature thing for him to say, and Harry knows that he should be appreciative, that Louis is putting him first, that he’s sparing him, but in all honesty, it just hurts Harry. It just makes those feelings for Louis grow even more. To get a glimpse of that compassionate, vulnerable side of Louis, it’s a side that Harry can see himself getting used to seeing. 

But enough has been said tonight, and so Harry only has one last thing left on the tip of his tongue. It’s a completely unnecessary thing to say, but in this moment, who cares? Say what you must, and let all else be naught. “It would be an honor to have my heart broken by you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry mumbles. And isn’t it true? Even if Louis and Harry decided to date and it ended badly, the fact that Louis even thought Harry good enough to be given a chance, that in itself would be enough for Harry to survive. It really would be an honor. 

Louis doesn’t respond to those words. 

***

It’s the last day before Christmas Break the next time that Harry sees Louis, and it’s an entirely different setting than usual. Yes, they have a date set for after school, one that Harry is still looking forward despite the awkward rift between them. He’s looking forward to it because it’s their last meeting for two weeks, which is bittersweet, but Harry can’t even focus on that, too excited to see what Louis' going to do to keep him satiated for fourteen whole days. But no, this time, he’s seeing Louis in an entirely different atmosphere, one that he’s never seen him in before. 

It’s a class meeting, wherein twice a semester at the beginning and end, each class meets as a whole in the gym and the student council and their respective class managers speak to the class about various things such as fundraisers, grades, expectations, et cetera. It’s all boring, stupid shit that Harry would rather slit his wrists than listen to, but now he’s actually curious. Because who is always at the meetings? The student council. And who is in student council? Louis. And Harry, with his newfound interest in all things Louis Tomlinson—since Louis was right, he doesn't know anything about him—decides on the final day of school before holidays, to go sit in on a forty-five minute meeting with all two hundred of his classmates. Just to see Louis. But if anyone asks, he’s there because it’s for extra credit. Not that anyone is going to ask, because people don’t ask Harry why he’s doing the shit he’s doing. They just accept it and move on. 

Harry shuffles in with all the familiar faces he’s seen for the past four years, winding up sitting next to Eleanor, who gives him a little smile before focusing her attention down towards the gym floor. Harry copies Eleanor and places his backpack between his feet, and does a quick scan of the floor, seeing Liam’s familiar face and his rather frustrated look, a few other no-namers, and then finally, Louis. He’s standing off to the side, flipping through some folders, his back to the audience. He’s dressed in black skinny jeans that are cuffed at the bottom, and his shirt is halfway tucked in, halfway pulled out, and his hair is in loose curls today, the look that Harry prefers. It’s much more fun to tangle his hands in curls rather than a sticky, stiff quiff. Thankfully, Louis has seemed to permanently switch to curls, so that makes Harry happy. He finds himself staring solely at the Brit for a while, catching himself as other students begin to squeeze past him to sit in the middle, where there’s a scattering of open seats. One of the students is Zayn Malik, who makes Harry’s insides freeze up, but he doesn’t so much as give Harry a second glance, plopping down next to Niall and starting up conversation almost immediately. 

Harry shivers a bit, pulling Eleanor’s attention, but he just gives her a small smile to reassure her. Eleanor peers at him curiously, before shrugging her shoulders and turning back to the front, where finally, the student council president starts to speak. And really, from then on, it’s a drawling lecture that Harry doesn’t even listen to, paying attention only to Louis. He keeps his eyes trained on him, watching his every movement, and watching it in awe. Because the way Louis is acting, it’s completely different than the Louis that Harry has familiarized himself with. He stands straight, his feet slightly turned in, his arms hugging folders to his chest, his eyes bright and filled with childlike intrigue. He sways a bit on his feet, tapping them and laughing along with every joke that’s made. It’s like a completely different person, void of any sultriness, any depth, any capability of having a meaningful conversation. Or being capable of using their body in the ways that Louis somehow can. He’s two-faced in the most innocent meaning of the term, putting up to entirely different fronts depending on his audience, and Harry has to give it to him. He’s an excellent actor. 

Which is actually, as Harry starts to think about it, concerning. If he’s that good of an actor, who’s to say that he does have feelings for Harry? What if it’s still all just part of a game that Louis is playing? One that Harry thought he had lost and so he had given up, but in fact, he had just become another piece in Louis' game? It’s an overwhelming thought, one that kind of falls into Harry’s lap and sneers up at him, making his face fall, and his eyes well up with tears. It’s a wholly overdramatic reaction to such a simplistic thought, but Harry doesn’t want to think of him having just been continuously played by Louis, like dangling cheese in front of a mouse. He doesn’t want to think himself that stupid, or Louis that evil. 

He stands up abruptly then, probably drawing all the attention to him, but he doesn’t care as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and gets out of the gymnasium as fast as possible, the emotions clouding his vision and attacking him like several dozen, sentient beings. He can’t be here, he can’t see Louis like that, like an innocent little sixteen-year-old, it’s just too confusing. Everything is just too confusing. It’s just too much. It’s too much. It’s too much. 

Liam snaps his head up when he detects movement, and he does so just in time to see Harry practically racing up the stairs to the exits, his head ducked, the only identifying feature being his pale yellow backpack that’s decorated with numerous pins. Liam is glad that he isn’t speaking right now, because otherwise all the eyes would be trained on him and he wouldn’t be able to do what he’s going to do right now. He steps back, sitting down his papers and smoothing out his hair, trying to appear casual. He sidesteps closer to Louis, before slowly turning his head and catching Louis' attention. Louis looks back over at him, and Liam sees his eyes dilate in surprise as he glares at him, his eyes cold and knowing. He narrows them as he puts as much hatred into them as possible. He never hated Louis Tomlinson, which was a fucking feat considering he’s Harry’s best friend, but he never did. But now, seeing Harry run away for a reason that can only be Louis, Liam knows that it must be worse than he thought. 

Then again, when was sleeping with someone without expecting to catch feelings ever a good idea? He supposes he should have foreseen this day coming, and curses himself for not doing more to prevent it. What a fucking good friend he is. Louis stares back at him, and Liam feels a brief instance of satisfaction when he sees a flash of shame cross Louis' features, but it disappears so quickly. So quickly, and suddenly all Liam sees his shameless arrogance, a dark shadow that’s fallen over Louis' once blue eyes. And the corners of his lips tip up into a smirk, and that’s when Liam looks away. Because he’s not going to give Louis the satisfaction of seeing how blindingly angry he is. Fuck Louis Tomlinson. Just fuck him. 

Harry finds himself in his car, parked outside of the gym, and the first thing he does before crying is laugh. He laughs at the fucking irony, because the last time he was parked in front of the gym and sitting in his car alone, he was crying too. And he was confused, too. And he was angry, too. It’s just one big fucking circle, isn’t it? He’s on a carousel, and he wants off. He wants it to stop spinning, he wants to get off the horse, and he wants to leave the carnival. But he can’t. He’s stuck, stuck in this endless loop, this forever rotation, and the only exit is either cutting Louis from his life completely, or learning to love the spins. He lets out a groan as the tears begin to drip down his face, pushing his seat back so that he can bring his knees to his chest and burying his face in his hands like a child. 

Images of Louis flash through his brain, accompanied by every word exchanged, every feeling felt, everything. And despite the fact that he’s crying, Harry finds himself missing Louis. Missing him. How fucked up is that? And it’s all Louis' fault. Louis messed Harry up. Harry was fine before Louis, he was normal and he had morals, and he knew himself like the back of his own hand. He didn’t doubt anything, didn’t question anything, there was no confusion. And now, it seems like that’s all his life is. And it’s drowning him. It’s like he can’t breathe. It’s like he’s struggling to stay above the surface. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep treading this water. He’s starting to flounder. 

He throws his car into drive, cranking up his music, letting the lyrics of Somebody Else remind him of his woes, and it’s with teary eyes that he speeds away, wanting nothing more in this moment than to get as far away from this godforsaken school and Louis Tomlinson as possible. 

A few seconds after Harry zooms off, Liam and Louis burst out of the gym, and Liam lets out an audible shout as he sees Harry turn onto the highway. He grabs fistfuls of his hair as he spins around to where Louis has come to a stop behind him, breathing heavily and watching as Harry drives further away. Liam doesn’t know why Louis chased him, especially after giving him that look, but he takes the opportunity as he sees it, diving forward and quite literally grabbing Louis by his silk collar and shoving him up against the exterior brick wall to the gym. “You fucking little shit,” he spits, nothing but acid in his voice and fire in his eyes, the ultimate chemical reaction. Louis' jaw is dropped and his eyes are wide with actual terror, and his cheeks are paled as he doesn’t even struggle against Liam, letting him be pushed up against the wall, ignoring the scrapes its causing to his back. 

“You have no idea what you’ve put him through, do you?” Liam accuses, tilting his head as pure malevolence courses through his veins. Louis' jaw opens and closes as he tries but fails to come up with a response to Liam’s fury. It’s an admirable fury, proving him to really be the best of friends, and it’s terrifying Louis. Enough to finally get him to come to his senses. “I’m s-sorry!” he gasps, his voice meek and pitiful. Liam narrows his eyes, pushing Louis against the wall a bit more, before roughly releasing him, yanking him back and causing him to stumble as he pulls his arms away. “It’s not me you need to be apologizing to, you delusional little twink,” he slurs, nostrils flaring. Louis gapes, staring dumbfounded at Liam, his voice caught in his throat. “I don’t know what to do, okay?! It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he explains, his voice desperate now. 

Liam laughs a cold laugh as he shakes his head, stepping forward suddenly, causing Louis to flinch backwards. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s not how it was supposed to be, Louis,” he says, his voice disgustingly melodious. He gets so close to Louis that his eyes are boring into the younger one’s and his words are harsh enough that they make Louis flinch once again. 

“Fix it,” 

 

 

Harry’s family isn’t home when he arrives, probably because it’s still the middle of the day, and his siblings are at school and his parents are at work. He has the entire house to himself, which is a good thing, because he doesn’t quite feel like muffling his sobs. He drops his backpack off at the door, kicking his shoes off before dashing up the stairs to his room. He pulls open the door just as the first tears begin to stain his face, and he backs up against it as it closes, sliding down pathetically and landing with a thud on the floor. He pulls his knees to his chest, hugging them as his face crumples, and the weight of everything settles on his shoulders. 

Why is he crying? That’s the first weight on his shoulder, that simple question. What is causing these tears to roll down his face? The broad answer is Louis, but what about him? The memories, the feelings, the words, what? The longer he sits there crying, the more clear it becomes to him that he knows. He knows the answer to the question, he’s just refusing to acknowledge it. It’s the answer to end all answers, the penultimate conclusion. The reason he’s feeling everything he’s feeling, the reason he can’t ever seem to stop thinking about Louis, the reason he’s crying over him once again, perhaps—deep down—the reason he slept with him in the first place. 

He’s been in denial, this entire time. Even when he thought he wasn’t, even when he thought that he was at peace with his decisions, and where he stood with Louis was solid ground, he was wrong. There was always a question. And there was always an answer. And now, it’s time to acknowledge that. It’s time to finally come to terms with his feelings. He’s finished being in denial, he’s finished drowning, he’s finished denying himself what he wants. And what does he want? He wants Louis. 

That’s the answer. He wants Louis. And not in just a sexual manner, no, in an emotional manner. He wants to hug Louis, he wants to kiss him, he wants to tell him he’s beautiful, he wants him in every way, and he wants him now. But he can’t have him. He can’t have him because he isn’t sure if he feels the same way, and that’s what hurts the most. The insecurity, the mystery, the fact that Louis can make him think one thing and then the complete opposite the next day, how the fuck is Harry supposed to know what’s truthful and what isn’t? He said that truth thrived in that darkness, but what if it doesn’t? What if he only was just telling himself that? 

He lets out a particularly loud sob at that thought, at the thought that Louis doesn’t want him back, that it was all a ruse, a scheme, a game that Louis was playing. He lifts his head roughly standing up and walking straight into his bathroom, slamming his hands in fists down on the counter, looking up at his reflection. His face is red and streaked with tears, eyes puffy, face defeated, and he hates it. He hates that he’s been pushed to this pathetic edge. He glares at his reflection, damning it to hell. That weak boy, he doesn’t recognize himself, anymore. He hates the person looking back at him. Look what he did, look at where he got himself, how sad is that? In his anger, he grabs his glass that he uses to rinse his mouth out after brushing his teeth, and he slams it down on the counter, where it shatters, shards of glass scattering across the counter, a few landing on the floor. 

The sound and sensation provide Harry with some satisfaction, and he sniffs back his tears, lifting a hand to rudely wipe away his tears. He wills himself to stop crying, to not waste one more tear on Louis Tomlinson. He’s not worth it. He hardens his glare, but this time it’s more of a harsh gaze of confidence than a cold glare of self-hatred. He has got to man up, let Louis Tomlinson go, and focus on himself. He slams down his hand in validation, but immediately cries out in pain as he yanks his hand away from the counter, immediately pulling it to his face, noting the clear shards of glass poking into his skin. He’s bleeding, but not profusely, and he groans in frustration, his heated motivation dissipated as he’s returned back to reality. Reality hurts. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pulling out the shards of glass and flinching each time they lacerate the skin further. He bites down onto his lower lip as he backs out of his bathroom, staring intensely at his hand as he heads out of his bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen, where the first aid kit is located. He scans his hand, trying to catch any glint of glass, but he doesn’t see any, just a lot of red as the cuts begin to bleed more. They’re painful, but more of an annoyance than anything else. He’s just passing the front door when he hears a knock, and about runs straight into the entry table, causing the vase of flowers to rock a bit unsteadily. He steadies it with his uninjured hand, and wonders who could be at the door. He’s thinking along the lines of postman or something, so needless to say, he’s completely shocked when he opens the door and sees Louis standing there, a little yellow box in his hand and wide, nervous eyes. 

Harry’s heart immediately jumps ahead of his mind and starts beating erratically, his insides flooding with warmth and happiness at seeing the Australian standing on his doorstep, before he reminds himself that he’s done with Louis. His eyes narrow to slits as he puts a hand on his hip and glares at Louis, wondering why in the actual hell he’s here. What can he possibly want? To torment Harry some more? To remind him of what he can’t have, because Louis doesn’t ‘do relationships’? “You have about thirty seconds to tell me why you’re here before I slam this door in your angelic little face,” he spits, his voice surprisingly threatening. He didn’t mean to sound so formidable, but he definitely likes it. Louis pales a bit at the tone, and Harry is wholly surprised when he doesn’t see Louis' typical go-to mischievous little expression that he wears whenever Harry talks back to him. 

This look now is actually a terrified look, his mouth trying to form words but unable to, his eyes trained on Harry like he’s standing seven feet tall and holding a gun to his forehead. “I, uh, I just wanted to…,” he starts to say, but trails off, eyes dilating some more in nervousness. “Twenty-six seconds,” Harry sneers. He’s a little bit distracted by the sticky warmth in his palm and the growing icy-hot pain, but he’s pulled back to focus when Louis practically yells out his response. “I’m sorry!” he cries out, lunging forward a bit, as if expecting Harry to actually slam the door in his face. Harry’s jaw drops at the words, and the sincerity behind them. He can hear it in Louis' pleading tone, he can see it in the sparkling desperation of his blue eyes. And it kind of makes him retract everything that he told himself up in his bathroom. 

Louis is apologizing. He’s acknowledging that he knows he’s hurt Harry, and he’s saying he’s sorry. And he clearly is broken up about it, Harry can see it in how his eyes are watery, shimmering in the sunlight. His own words are caught in his throat as his eyes dart down to his hand, a searing pain running through it. Louis' eyes follow Harry’s, and he lets out a little gasp. “Are you okay?!” he asks, concern laced throughout his tone. It’s a caring kind of concern, something Harry is definitely not used to hearing ever, especially in such a daylight sort of setting. He looks up, and catches Louis staring at him, leaning slightly down, one hand extended. He blushes, standing up straight, and raising his eyebrows. Harry swallows, debating what to do, before turning around and walking back into his house, leaving the door open for Louis to follow him. 

He hears the front door shut, and the soft padding of Louis' footfalls, and he can’t help but smile a little bit. This is definitely not what he expected to happen, and he has no idea what’s going to happen after, but he likes it. Louis actually came to his house, and apologized. But why? What prompted him to, out of the blue? Surely it wasn’t simply Harry running out of the class meeting. No, somebody got to him. Harry stops in front of the sink, clenching his jaw as he runs cold water over his cut hand, washing the blood away to reveal several short, but deep cuts. “What did you do?” Louis asks quietly, standing a little bit off to the side of Harry, as if still afraid. Harry doesn’t look at Louis as he pulls out the first aid kit, and smears neosporin across the gashes, sighing as they alleviate some of the stinging pain. “I broke a glass,” he says, deciding to just be honest. 

He wraps fresh, white gauze tightly around his palm, noticing Louis' silence when he looks back over at him, putting the kit away. Louis is staring at him, confused, his brow knit. “How did you break a glass?” he quizzes. Harry blinks a few times, turning to face him completely. It’s so weird, seeing Louis surrounded by his own home, but he’s just glad his family isn’t home. That would not be good at all. “I threw it,” he deadpans, keeping his face blank. Louis stares back at him, lost for a moment, before his face crinkles with confusion again. He opens his mouth to ask what Harry assumes is another question, but he cuts him off before he can ask it, asking his own. “What made you decide to apologize?” he says. Louis snaps his mouth shut, blushing before he answers. “Oh, uh,” he starts to say, but Harry sees him look around uncomfortably, and he decides to move this conversation up to his bedroom, because he has a feeling it’ll make Louis feel a bit better. 

He uses his good hand to wrap around Louis' wrist, brushing past him and pulling him gently to the stairs. He keeps his hold on his wrist as they climb, dropping it when they enter his room, and Harry sits down on the bed, looking at the space next to him, signaling for Louis to sit down. Louis does, albeit with hesitation, and he rests the little yellow box on his lap. He takes a breath, before locking eyes with Harry, exuding as much seriousness as possible. “Liam talked to me,” he says. Harry lets the words settle, before he tilts his head in confusion. “Liam?” he repeats, bewilderment decorating his face. Louis nods, dropping his eyes to look at his hands. “He made me realize what I had done,” he mumbles. “How I had hurt you,” The last part Harry has to strain to hear, but he does hear it, and it makes his heart ache. Who is this Louis, and why hasn’t he made an appearance until now? 

He lifts his head back up, and Harry finds himself locked in those beautiful azure eyes, those eyes that are swimming with moisture. They’re full of regret and sadness and guilt, and it makes Harry want to cry, too. There’s no doubt that he’s just acting, because this isn’t something you can fake. And if it is, well, then Harry is choosing to believe. But he really doesn’t think it’s a lie. Especially not when Louis speaks again. “I never, ever meant to hurt you, Harry, please believe me,” Louis whispers, his bottom lip trembling as a tear escapes his eye. Harry’s mind is running a million miles a minute, but he’s present enough that he’s able to nod, scooting closer so that his hip is touching Louis'. “I do, I believe you,” he replies softly. Louis lets out a breath that he must have been holding, because he gasps a bit, a smile spreading across his face as he ducks his head, nodding to himself. “Thank you,” he says. Harry smiles too, resting a hand on Louis' knee, rubbing it comfortingly. 

He sees the little yellow box, and he’s curious, sliding his hand over to touch it. “What’s that?” he inquires, tapping it once. Louis' head lifts as he looks down at the box, eyebrows shooting upward as he suddenly remembers that it exists. “Oh!” he says, looking up at Harry, red dusting his cheeks. “It’s really cheesy, but, it’s kind of like your Christmas present, since I’ll be gone all break,” he explains. He presses it into Harry’s non-bandaged hand, and Harry stares at it, before looking back at Louis, uncertainty written across all of his features. He got Harry a Christmas present? He suddenly feels bad for not having anything to give back, but Louis interrupts his thoughts, pushing the gift in his hand closer to him. “It’s not anything big, just open it,” he encourages, a nervous little laugh filling the air. Harry hesitates for another moment, distracted by Louis' crystal eyes, before he tears his gaze away, and lifts the lid off of the box, revealing a single strip of paper. 

A bit eagerly, he lifts it out, bringing it closer to his face. It’s a series of numbers, with a few dashes separating them, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it is. It’s a phone number. Harry’s eyes widen as he realizes the implications and significance of receiving Louis' phone number. He obviously doesn’t have it, because Louis doesn’t give it out to hardly anyone. “It’s in case you want to, I don’t know, text me or whatever,” Louis scrambles, wringing his hands together. Harry looks up, his mouth slightly ajar, and he smiles at Louis' obvious flustered state. Louis closes his mouth as his eyes search Harry’s clear nervousness reflected in his eyes. 

Harry maintains eye contact as he sits the paper back in the box, and puts the box on his nightstand, turning to completely facing Louis, lifting his hands to cup Louis' face in them. He can feel Louis' pulse against his fingers, and he’s so nervous, Harry finds it adorable. He offers up what he hopes is a comforting smile, before leaning forward and letting his eyes slide shut as his mouth connects with Louis'. The instant their lips touch, Louis sighs, slumping into Harry’s touch, his arms reaching out to pull Harry closer as they kiss. It’s a heavy, passionate, emotional kiss that says so much without saying anything, and Harry puts his all in to it. He runs his tongue gently along Louis' lower lip, and Louis responds by opening his mouth, tilting his head to give Harry a better angle. 

As Harry’s tongue licks into Louis' mouth, the two boys move to where Harry is propped against his headboard, and Louis is straddling his lap, his legs on either side of his hips, hands buried in his hair. Harry’s own hands run down Louis' sides, before slipping up underneath his shirt, his fingers light as feathers as they touch his abs, and reach his nipples. He runs his thumbs over the sensitive flesh, flicking them once, and relishing in the moan he received from Louis, and the grind down against his crotch. He wasn’t planning on sleeping with Louis, not after such an emotionally sappy conversation, but he isn’t stopping anything. Louis is leaving for two weeks, and now it’s going to be especially difficult to deal with, since their relationship has just taken a giant leap forward. 

He breaks the kiss off for air, immediately leaving a trail of them down Louis' jawline as he pushes his shirt up, stopping when Louis lifts his arms and finishes the job, throwing it to the ground. Harry doesn’t hold back as he runs his hands all over Louis' exposed chest, his collarbones, his shoulders, his back, everything. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss just above Louis' heart. He looks up and sees Louis blushing, smiling gently as he unbuttons Harry’s shirt, pushing it aside before leaning down to kiss up the valley between his abs all the way to his collarbones. Harry arches his neck in bliss, blindly reaching over to his nightstand to grab the necessary supplies, banging his hand and sending spikes of pain up his arm, but he ignores it, grabbing what he needs and tossing them back onto the bed. Louis has proceeded to reattach his mouth to Harry’s, but the kiss is slower this time, more sensual as he grinds his hips down in a more rhythmic manner. 

Harry moans as he feels his cock harden in his jeans, and he’s suddenly very eager to get them off. He undoes his own fly, pushing them down until they collide with Louis' legs. Louis gets the message though, lifting his hips to let Harry push the material as far down as he needs to, and his hand that isn’t exploring every inch of Louis' back, goes to messing with the button on Louis' jeans. Once they’re both naked, and exposed, Harry feels the blood rush to his groin, the lust pooling in his stomach. He reaches a bit above him, surprising Louis as he wraps his fingers loosely around his shaft, and runs a closed fist down it. Louis moans into Harry’s mouth, momentarily distracted, his mouth open against Harry’s. Harry smiles a bit as he pumps his fist along Louis' length, letting the pre-cum lubricate the soft skin for him. 

Louis rests his forehead against Harry’s his darkened eyes piercing Harry’s, his fingers tugging at his hair. Harry pants as he continues giving Louis a hand job, and he’s so focused on it, that he isn’t expecting it when Louis' hand wraps around his cock, and squeezes, pulling on it once, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through Harry. He arches his back, bucking into Louis' hand essentially, and his eyes screw shut. His neck exposed, Louis aims for it, sucking harshly at the soft skin, leaving his mark on Harry. And this time, Harry won’t cover it up with makeup or a scarf. He’ll show it off, he’ll let everyone see. He increases his pace, letting Louis fuck his hand basically, and he’s overwhelmed with the waves of pleasure, and in this moment, in this moment, he’s in love. 

He’s with Louis, he’s surrounded by him emotionally, mentally, physically, and he’s never felt better. Not in all the times they’ve done this has he ever felt this close to him. In this moment, he doesn’t regret anything. In fact, he’s grateful for everything. For every single thing, even every tear shed, because it brought him to this moment. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, but he’s ready to find out. He’s not afraid, he’s not in denial, he’s not confused. 

He thinks may be falling in love.


	2. Parlor Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one has a lot of cute, clueless louis

Going away sex has to be one of the greatest brands of sex, Harry decides. The desperation, the urgency, the passion, it’s an overwhelming sensation that kind of makes the whole ‘going away’ think a little less painful. Hands roam, mouths kiss, Louis is everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and Harry can’t focus on just one thing. His attention switches between the feeling of being surrounded by Louis, his warmth incomparable to anything else in this godforsaken warmth, to the feeling of him sliding up and down on his length, to looking into his eyes that are dark as midnight. They’re both upright in Harry’s bed, Harry’s legs extended while Louis is wrapped around him like a koala, sitting on his lap, bouncing on his cock, his arms locked around his neck, holding tight. He’s a bit higher up than Harry in this position, resulting in Harry’s head resting against his chest, near his heart. 

Louis is chasing his high, a stream of moans escaping his lips like a waterfall, and he moves one hand to pull roughly at Harry’s hair, pulling his head back so that they can lock eyes once again. Harry finds it difficult to keep his eyes completely open, the ecstasy becoming too much. He stares up with hooded lids as Louis pants, his forehead shining with sweat. He clenches suddenly around Harry’s cock, and Harry cries out, his nails digging into Louis' hipbones as he feels himself growing closer. Louis begins to bounce on Harry’s lap faster, moving his hand down the back of Harry’s neck and pulling his face to his chest again, hugging him essentially. “I’m going to miss you so much,” he gasps, pressing Harry impossibly closer. 

Harry feels a flood of warmth that has nothing to do with being buried inside of Louis, and he wraps his own arms around Louis' slender, slick body, hugging him back, kissing his chest hard as he bucks his own hips upward. It’s not an easy feat with their positioning, but it must do something for Louis, because he cries out, throwing his head back, the moan turning into a low growl as it continues on. “Do that again,” he begs, clawing at Harry’s back. 

Harry obliges, fucking roughly up into Louis, driving straight into that bundle of nerves that has Louis coming all over his chest in beautiful white streaks. “Fuck, Harry!” he cries out, bending and burying Harry’s face against his neck, body shaking as he comes, obscene noises continuing to spill out of his lips. Harry grips Louis' hips and lifts them himself, dropping Louis back onto his length so that he too can reach his high. Louis is practically dead weight after his orgasm, panting as he rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around him, but Harry lets him use him. Harry fucks him until he too feels that buildup in his stomach, and he comes, shooting into the condom and gathering Louis in his arms, nuzzling his face into his neck. “God, you’re perfect,” he moans, catching his breath. 

He continues holding Louis after he comes down, and Louis leans against him, falling down with him against the bed, cuddling into him despite the physical discomfort. They’re both sticky and sweaty and exhausted, but it feels so right just lying in each other’s arms that neither of them makes any move to get up. The only thing Harry does is slowly pull out of Louis, his length softening as he recovers from his orgasm. Louis whimpers at the loss, curling further into Harry, who wraps one arm around his torso, keeping him from slipping off to the side. They both just lay there, catching their breath, letting their thoughts reorganize, soaking in the moment. 

That sex was different. Of course it was different, they weren’t just fucking to fuck. They were fucking for a reason. It was an actual brand of sex, it was a mixture between going away sex and makeup sex, and Harry can’t decide which one it was more. Either way, it was emotional, it was intense, and it was better than all the other times. Well, the first time was pretty spectacular too, but that’s all because of context. He hopes that the next time they sleep together, it’s just as good, if not even better. He hopes that the next time they sleep together, it’s as boyfriends. That’s clearly their next step, but how they’re going to get there, that’s the current mystery. He pushes the thoughts away for now, because Louis is getting ready to leave for two weeks, and they won’t truly be able to talk things through until he returns. Harry does, however, now have a phone number, and it will not go neglected over this break. 

“I should go,” Louis says suddenly, quietly. His actions contradict his words though, as he cuddles even closer to Harry. Harry sighs, a gentle smile coating his features as he strokes Louis' back. “Yeah, my family will be home soon,” he replies. Louis nods slowly against his neck, his hair tickling Harry’s chin, but doesn’t make to move. Harry doesn't either, content on just freezing this moment and living in it forever, an endless loop. But unfortunately, that isn’t how it works, and so Louis sits up, sighing and running a hand through his hair. He stares down at Harry longingly, tracing his collarbones, before swinging his legs over and standing up, walking into Harry’s bathroom. Harry hears water running as he grabs some tissues from underneath his bed and wipes off his stomach, pulling his jeans back up and buttoning his shirt. 

Louis returns with his hair somewhat put back in place, and he avoids eye contact as he gets dressed, even though Harry doesn’t hold back on checking him out. Louis tucks half of his shirt back in like he had it at school, and then he finally lifts his eyes to look at Harry, who is—of course—already staring at him. He purses his lips, swaying a bit on his feet and rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Well, I’ll, uh, see you when I get back,” he says awkwardly, before nodding and reaching for Harry’s door. Harry stares at his back, blinking in slight disbelief at the lackluster farewell, waiting until he hears Louis' feet hit the bottom floor, and he gets up, dashing after him. He flies down the stairs, catching Louis at his front door, shooting a hand out to lock around his wrist, preventing him from leaving. Louis spins around, cheeks burning red as he looks at Harry, who smiles at his precious ignorance. 

He doesn’t say anything, just maintaining his smile as he slowly, slowly, pulls Louis closer, lifting one hand to cup his cheek and lift his head up just slightly to reach his lips. He kisses him softly, lips barely touching the younger boy’s. Louis apparently isn’t okay with that, greedily pressing his lips more firmly against the older boy’s, which causes Harry to chuckle, dropping Louis' wrist to cup his face in both of his hands, returning the kiss with more force. Louis whimpers a bit when Harry breaks it off before he’s ready, and blushes as Harry pecks his nose, before standing back up straight. He still holds Louis' face in his hands as he smiles lovingly down at him, rubbing his thumbs across his smooth cheeks. “Bye, Louis,” he says sweetly. 

Louis gulps, batting his lashes against his wide eyes, and he hesitates before responding. “Bye, Harry,” he whispers, a bit breathless. Harry smiles again, before releasing him and pulling the door open behind him. Louis stares at Harry for another moment, awestruck almost, before clumsily turning around and walking out the door, stumbling a bit before regaining his balance and making a beeline to his car. Harry watches for a moment, before chuckling, shaking his head as he closes his door. Louis was always so much cuter when he was flustered. 

***

Harry: this is weird 

Louis: aw why bb

Harry: i’m not used to talking to you without seeing your face 

Louis: it’s been seven days 

Harry: …how is that relevant 

Louis: am i picking up sass through electronic text messaging harry styles? 

Harry: am i picking up mischief through electronic text messaging louis tomlinson? 

Louis: oh say my name again has ugh 

Harry: ….it’s been seven days 

Louis: seven days without you inside of me daddy ;) 

Harry: sHUT UP 

Louis: see you in seven days love ;P 

Harry throws his phone onto his bed after that, laughing up at the ceiling to himself, wondering what Louis looks like right now. He’s been doing a lot of wondering over the break, spending his evenings holed up in his room, weighing his options. What options, you might be asking? Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? His options with Louis. Should he date him, or should he wait a little bit longer? He certainly doesn’t want to just jump into a relationship because Louis feels guilty for hurting him. He doesn’t want their relationship to be founded on guilt and the subsequent making up of that, no. He wants it to be real, motivated by feelings of love and attraction, nothing less. 

Of course Harry knows the easy answer is yes, obviously he wants to date Louis. It’s what he’s wanted from the very beginning but refused to acknowledge, and now he actually has a chance. He’d be an idiot not to take it. But at the same time, he has his reservations. Louis has done things that give Harry reason enough not to trust him completely, to doubt his intentions. He doesn’t doubt that Louis has feelings for him, but are they strong enough for him to commit to a relationship? Harry is sensitive, he doesn’t know how he’d survive a breakup with Louis. He’s confident that he’d be able to, but at what cost? He doesn’t want Louis to be the be all end all, and yet, that’s what it’s shaping out to look like. And what about the amount of time they have? Harry graduates in five short months, and then it’s off to who knows where, and he can’t exactly take Louis with him. 

Still, that’s five long months to be in a relationship, and if they somehow happen to last that long, won’t they be able to figure something out? They’re not the first couple to run into this problem, and there are many solutions. And those five months, wouldn’t they be beautiful? To be Louis' boyfriend, to call him his, it makes Harry’s heart flutter just to think about it. It makes him smile up at his ceiling at the thought of holding Louis' hand, kissing him whenever he wants to, it’s a little irresistible. 

Deciding to just voice his concerns to the other half of this equation, he picks up his phone, dialing Louis' number and holding it up to his ear. He’s a little giddy, but manages to calm himself down enough to talk normally when Louis' voice rings through the line. “It’s a little early for phone sex, Haz, I’m just about to go down to dinner,” Louis says, the mischievousness crystal clear even through the crackly filter of the phone. Harry blushes, rolling his eyes before replying. “How much do you want to date me?” he blurts out. He cringes, because that’s not exactly how he planned on starting this conversation, but biting his tongue, because he’s not going to try and take it back now, now that Louis has definitely heard it. 

Harry can feel the change through the phone, and when Louis speaks again, he’s completely serious. “I’m not good at relationships but—,” he starts to say, but Harry cuts him off, jumping to conclusions on what he’s going to say. “That’s not what I asked, I meant—,” he too starts to say, but then Louis cuts him off, like a game of mousetrap. “Harry,” he giggles. “Let me finish, sweet boy,” Harry’s heart contracts at the affectionate nickname, and he swallows, staying silent and letting Louis complete his statement. Louis laughs a bit more, before it fades away and he swallows. 

“I’m not good at relationships, but I want to be. For you,” he says, before the line goes quiet, the only noise filling Harry’s ears being static. He lets the emotions swirl around in his head, a grin slowly spreading from cheek to cheek at Louis' brutally honest and affectionate words. “For me,” he breathes back, smiling to the darkness once again. “I’ll see you on Monday, Louis boy,” he says, hanging up before Louis can reply. He falls back onto his pillows, exhaling with exhilaration. It’s going to be a fantastic Monday. 

*monday*

Harry about gets into a car accident as he speeds towards the school, swinging roughly into the parking lot and swerves through to his parking spot. He’s eager for good reason, unable to keep the smile of his face as he turns his car off and wraps his scarf around his neck, orienting his sunglasses and slinging his backpack over his shoulders. He steps out into the crisp Oregon air, and lets the wind tickle his face as he makes a beeline for the Louis hotspot. Right outside the stagecraft building. He isn’t one hundred percent sure that Louis will be there, but he figures it’s a good spot to check before going into the school, where he’ll have to be discreet and contain his excitement. 

He approaches the brick building, slowing down a bit as he realizes he looks a bit frazzled. He turns the corner, and can’t keep the grin off his face as he sees Louis sitting on that same ledge as before, a joint poking out between his lips, his head lifted to the sun, a brown jacket with a white faux-fur collar making him look sophisticated and intimidating. He blows out a pillar of smoke, which makes him look like a bad boy in every way, and snaps his head over when he hears Harry approaching. Harry stops in his tracks, blushing as Louis' mouth splits into a smirk, and he jumps off of the ledge, throwing his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk and digging it in with his heel. “I’m getting hard just looking at you, Lou,” he says, his voice sultry. Harry hasn’t heard this voice in a while, and instead of being annoyed by it like he used to be, he likes it. He lets out a little scoff, going along with the act, and resting his weight on his left leg. 

Louis walks up to him, stopping about a foot in front of him, and pulling his lower lip between his teeth as he gazes up at Harry, his eyes scintillating in the sunlight. “Don’t ever let me leave you for two whole weeks, I just can’t take it,” he pouts, batting his lashes, before looking over Harry’s shoulders once. Harry opens his mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but before he gets the words out, Louis roughly grabs Harry’s face and crashes their lips together. Harry is startled, hands flying to hover in the air as he partially loses his balance with the force of Louis' mouth on his. 

It’s a short kiss, Louis breaking it off before anyone can see them, but it leaves them both breathless, eyes wide and surprised. “I’ve been wanting to do that again for two whole weeks,” Louis says unashamedly, piercing Harry with his intense gaze. Harry’s mind finally catches up to him as he blinks rapidly, mouth slightly parted and still tasting of Louis. Louis is waiting for him to say something, and so he says the one thing that he came here to say, because after that kiss, he’s pretty confident of the answer. 

“Will you go on a date with me?” 

two

He picks Louis up promptly at seven, not knowing entirely what to expect. Not only is he going on his first actual date with Louis Tomlinson, the boy he hated and then fucked for two whole months before finally acknowledging his feelings towards him, he’s going on a date with a boy. He hasn’t ever gone on a date with a girl let alone a boy. Sure, he’s had sex with a girl—something he prefers to just pretend never happened now—but he’s never gone on a date with one. He’s gone on plenty of double dates though, so he’s pretty sure that he’s knowledgable enough. And certainly more knowledgable than Louis, who is only sixteen and the only experience he has with relationships is on a purely physical level. 

His being more experienced in the field of dating is made very clear when he knocks on Louis' door, and Louis opens it, his cheeks already red and his eyes wide with nerves. “Hey,” he says, trying to sound casual, but failing. Harry gives him the once-over, admiring Louis' choice in outfit. He’s wearing an outfit that makes him look like the classiest boy this side of the Pacific, with his black skinny jeans, a beige turtle neck that he is completely pulling off, and a terra cotta velvety jacket layered over the jumper. His hair hangs in loose curls over his forehead, and for some reason, his lips look plump and very pink. He looks, for lack of a better term, dazzling. 

Harry can’t help but feel significantly underdressed in his slacks and suspenders, blushing as Louis catches him raking his eyes over his body. He doesn’t say anything though, just stepping out onto his porch and shutting his door. He raises his eyebrows slightly, his bottom lip only just barely shaking with nerves. Harry can feel the waves of anxiety rolling off of the poor boy, and he offers up a smile to help calm him down, holding out his hand. “Ready?” he asks brightly, hoping the tone puts Louis at ease. It does, or at least appears to, because Louis' face breaks into a smile and he takes Harry’s hands. Their fingers fall together easily, and Harry doesn’t miss how tightly Louis holds on to it. 

It’s becoming apparent to Harry that the sultry, mischievous, fearless Louis that he is so used to seeing at school and in the bedroom is actually just a facade, that the true Louis is this one. The shaky, nervous, adorable boy that blushes frequently as is always afraid to make the first mood. It’s a giant contrast to his alternate personality, making Harry wonder how he got so good at hiding this side of him. What made him decide to become the whore of a school? Why that mask? Why that reputation? What is his backstory? He doesn’t know, but he’s hoping that this is the first step to finding out. To finding out more about this mystery boy. 

He’s going full formal tonight, walking around his car and opening the door for Louis. Louis snaps his head up to stare at Harry in awe for a moment, before swallowing and climbing into the car, his hand falling from Harry’s. Once he’s safely tucked inside, Harry shuts the door, and jogs around the front of his car, opening his door and sliding in. He starts the engine, turning the music down to a low hum, and looking over at Louis once. Louis is looking down into his lap, pursing his lips, and Harry’s heart aches for him. He smiles softly as he puts the car into reverse, and backs out, pulling into the street. Once the car is in drive, he steals another glance, straining to see Louis fully in the darkness, but still feeling the nerves coming off of him. 

In an act of compassion, he reaches back over and takes Louis' hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. He’s looking back to the road, but he can see through his peripheral that Louis has snapped his head back up and is looking at him, with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Harry tries to act like he can’t see Louis, but he fails, his face breaking into a smile as he lets out a gentle chuckle. “It’s so weird seeing you nervous,” he admits, glancing over briefly. Louis lets out a little laugh, dropping his other hand on top of Harry’s, rubbing the top of his hand gently. “I’m always nervous,” he whispers. Harry furrows his brow at those words and their assumed double meaning, but instead of questioning Louis, he just reaches over to his radio when they come to a stop at a light, turning on his music. As soon as the song starts, Louis gasps, turning to look at Harry, eyes popping. 

Harry looks back with wide eyes, mimicking Louis. Louis' eyes dart to the radio, then back to Harry, and he seems thoroughly shocked. “You listen to The 1975?!” he exclaims. Harry blinks a few times, before nodding his head. “Yeah!” he cries back. Louis grins from cheek to cheek as he turns the volume up and falls back in his seat, singing along with the lyrics to ‘Paris’. Harry smiles to himself as he starts to drive, arm still extended over the console to hold Louis' hand. He sings along quietly too, but he’s mostly listening to Louis. He picks up pretty quickly that the kid has a beautiful singing voice, and he finds himself listening more to him than the actual recording.

They don’t speak for the duration of the song, both content to just sing along lightly to The 1975 until they arrive at the movie theater. Louis' eyes peer up at the large sign, and he looks over at Harry, slightly confused. “What movie are we seeing?” he asks, his voice small. Harry turns the car off, the silence settling over them like a blanket, and he smirks, perking up an eyebrow. “The scariest one,” he replies smoothly, winking before releasing Louis' hand and running over to open the door for him. He hopes he isn’t freaking him out with all the formalities, but he enjoys treating Louis like a prince. Louis climbs out of the car, smiling cutely at Harry as he extends an elbow, and Louis loops his arm through it. 

It’s chilly, and Harry is wishing he has a jacket, but he keeps his mouth shut as they buy their tickets, and get popcorn and drinks, and find their seats in the theater. It’s relatively full, it being the movie’s opening weekend, and Harry is kind of glad for that, hoping that it calms Louis down some more. As they settle down, Louis eyes the armrest, before sliding his eyes up to meet with Harry’s steady ones. They for some reason look extra blue in this moment, and Harry momentarily loses his train of thought as he stares into them. They look so innocent, it’s not normal for Louis. Louis is the actual antithesis of innocent, and yet, here he is, acting like the epitome of it. “Is it okay if I lift the armrest?” he asks timidly. Harry blinks a few times, before nodding rapidly, pushing the piece of furniture up himself. 

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. Louis blushes lightly, smiling before wasting no time and sliding closer to Harry, to where their hips are touching. He bats his lashes up at Harry as he does, as if expecting him to protest or something. Harry gazes back, a little taken aback at the sudden lack of nerves on Louis' part, and is even more confused when Louis giggles, reaching up and grabbing Harry’s arm, slinging it over his own shoulders. “I get scared during horror movies, Haz, I need you to hold me,” he explains, his voice like velvet. Harry’s mouth goes dry as his heart speeds up in small increments, and he nods, tightening his grip around Louis' shoulders and adjusting his sitting position. “The movie hasn’t started yet, Lou,” he responds, pretending like he doesn’t want this when he absolutely, one-hundred-percent does. Louis lifts his head, his curls tickling Harry’s jaw, before he chuckles. “I know,” he says, winking before he rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. 

The two sit in comfortable silence, Harry lightly rubbing Louis' arm, really just stroking the material of his jacket, before Louis lets out a small little groan, sitting up suddenly. “What’s wrong?” Harry asks as his arm slips off of Louis' shoulders. Louis groans again, burying his face in his hands before peeking through his fingers. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what I’m doing,” he moans, before snapping his fingers closed, his face disappearing behind them. Harry stares blankly at Louis for a moment, before giggling, reaching forward and gently prying Louis' hands from his face. Louis' expression is one of mortification, and Harry can’t help but smile at how adorable the entire situation is. He takes Louis' hands in his, rubbing his thumbs across the top of them. “That’s okay, Louis, it’s just a first date,” he reassures. 

Louis hangs on to his every word, his eyes dilated. Harry laughs, looking down for a second before looking back up. “Here, let me help you,” he says. He clears his throat, sitting up straight and pulling an amusedly serious expression. “Tell me something about yourself, Louis Tomlinson,” he says. Louis freezes for a moment, before snorting out a laugh, a stream of giggles following as he lowers his head, and raises it back up, nodding. Harry can see the gears turning in his head, his lips pursing, before he finally speaks. “I like to sing,” he says softly. Harry’s heart flutters at that, picture images of Louis singing flashing through his mind. It makes sense now, him being in the choir room that one time, and the fact that he sang along all the way to the theater, and exceptionally at that. 

“I like to write,” Harry replies enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up at the casual yet meaningful conversation. He’s finally learning a little bit more about Louis, and Louis him. Louis' eyes light up at that, a smile coating his lips as happiness falls over him. “Me too! Songs, mostly,” he says. Harry smiles wider, scooting closer to Louis as he gets more excited to talk about himself. “Poetry is my favorite,” he elaborates. Louis seems even more intrigued after that, opening his mouth to reply, when suddenly the lights dim, and the two boys look towards the screen, where the opening previews are beginning. They look back at each other, eyes locking in the dim light, before Harry lets go of Louis' hands, and holds open his arms. 

Louis lets out a quiet yelp of approval before he falls into them, snuggling into Harry’s side and sighing, locking his hands around his waist. He rests his head back on his shoulder, and Harry is in bliss. A small part of him—the part of his subconscious that is out to get him—wonders why Louis is being so touchy-feely if he’s supposedly bad at relationships, but perhaps this is what he views as bad. Harry will admit, it’s a bit much for a first date, but they have a history between them, so it’s more to be expected and accepted. He certainly doesn’t mind, and he hopes that Louis doesn’t either. “I really do get scared during horror movies,” Louis says. Harry twinkles, rubbing Louis' arm a few times. “That’s okay, I got you,” 

***

When he goes to drop Louis off at his house, he walks him up to his door, and Louis spins around before opening it, gulping as he looks up at Harry. Harry looks back down at him, a knowing smile decorating his features. Louis lilts up a bit on his feet, to where he’s taller than Harry, and Harry looks up at him, liking the change in height already. “Is this the part where we kiss?” Louis whispers, and Harry flushes, nodding slowly. Louis smirks, before dragging a hand up and cupping Harry’s cheek, closing his eyes and pressing his lips against Harry’s. Harry inhales deeply, standing up straighter and causing Louis to return to his usual height, Harry only having to lean down a bit with his neck, as there’s less than an inch difference between them. He has an inkling in the back of his mind that one day Louis is going to be taller than him, and he finds himself looking forward to that day. 

Their mouths move languidly together, like a dance almost, and it’s a sweet kiss. Harry relishes in the soft feeling of Louis' lips, the sweet taste of him, and the passion behind it. He pulls away as Louis starts to get more insistent however, startling Louis, and causing him to lean his head forward a bit in an effort to recapture his lips, before his eyes flutter open, and he stares up at Harry. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks, worrying seeping into his voice and embarrassment into his eyes. Harry rushes to reassure him, shaking his head as he rests his hands on his shoulders, rubbing them affectionately. “No, no!” he says. “I just, I don’t sleep on the first date, regardless of past history,” Louis' face falls slightly at the rejection, and Harry feels kind of bad, but it’s important that Louis understands that they’re founded on more than just sex now. He has to get used to the idea of hanging out with all of their clothes on the entire time. 

Louis nods solemnly at that, his head hanging, and Harry is about to just give him another kiss and then leave with promises to call him next day, but then Louis lifts his head, and his eyes are a little bit desperate, full of a plea, and when he talks, his voice is quiet. “Do you cuddle on the first date?” he asks. Harry is caught off-guard by the question, his heart swelling with affection and a little bit of desire at the simple but distraught request. Louis looks like he’s begging, and Harry hesitates, his voice catching in his throat, before he exhales slowly, smiling softly and nodding. Cuddling can’t hurt anything, and why deny himself the simpler pleasures in life? 

“Yeah, I cuddle on the first date,” he says. Louis' beams, relief flooding through his eyes as he turns around, unlocking his front door and grabbing Harry’s hand, pulling him into his house. He gestures for him to be silent, and so Harry keeps his mouth shut as Louis leads him blindly through the darkened house, where Louis' family must be asleep. It’s not lost on Harry that he wasn’t introduced to Louis' parents tonight, but he has a feeling that they and Louis don’t have the best relationship for some reason. They climb stairs until they hit the second floor landing, and Louis leads Harry forward into his bedroom. 

Harry barely has time to look around before Louis has taken his jacket off and is curling up on his bed, looking up at Harry. Harry looks down at him, before kicking off his shoes and climbing in with him, opening his arms and letting Louis snuggle into them. If this is what their relationship is going to contain, Harry can’t wait. He can’t wait to cuddle Louis whenever he wants to. He can’t wait to kiss him whenever he wants to, hug him whenever, just be with him, whenever. Always. It’s only their first date, but these feelings have been developing over months. And now they’re both finally acting on them. And Harry loves it. He hopes Louis does too. As he presses his lips to the younger boy’s head, he really, really hopes. 

On Monday, Harry arrives at school in high spirits. Not only is it a half-day for parent-teacher conferences, he also will see Louis again for the first time since their date. It ended on a rather cute note, Louis falling asleep against Harry, and Harry leaving a cute little letter on his bedside table as he slipped quietly away into that good night. They had texted, of course, but always short conversations that ended kind of awkwardly. It became quickly apparent that they much preferred talking in person rather than over the phone. 

This day is windy, and so Harry shoves a beanie over his hair rather than trying to take the time to get it to cooperate, staring at his reflection in the mirror for a moment before leaving his house. He gives himself his own stamp of approval before grabbing his things and dashing out of the door, saying a hasty goodbye to his family before diving into his car. He turns the heat and music up as he speeds down the rain-slicked highway, enjoying the overcast sky and the overall dreary weather. It should put a damper on his rather good mood, but it doesn’t. He much prefers the cloudy skies to sunshine, because sunshine is everywhere, and it hurts his eyes and burns his skin, and he would rather it be like this. 

He parks where he always does, and grabs his thermos of coffee, glad that he decided last minute to pour one. He wraps his chilly fingers around it as he walks slowly up to the school. His eyes scan the vicinity, and he doesn’t see Louis hanging around the stagecraft building, so he assumes that he already went in for class. A few students are milling about the band room when Harry enters, and a few see him, offering up kind smiles and waves. Harry returns them, before taking a sip of his coffee, pulling a face when he realizes it’s scalding hot still. He blindly walks to his first hour—physics—his feet knowing the way so well he doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He walks into the classroom, blowing against the lid of his thermos as he slings his backpack onto the ground and turns to greet a very tired, very hungover Liam Payne. Harry chuckles, reaching over and patting his shoulder, which only elicits a groan out of him as he turns his face to press his cheek against the desk. “You okay?” Harry asks, grinning down at him. Liam stares up at him through his glasses, eyes narrowed as if the answer is obvious. “I went out with Lou last night, and I shouldn’t have,” he moans, screwing his eyes shut and sighing. Harry laughs loudly, patting Liam’s shoulder once more before sitting back in his seat. He takes another sip of his coffee, glad when it’s the perfect temperature. He hears Liam shift in his seat, and it’s not long before he continues on the conversation. 

“How did you spend your weekend?” he asks. Harry freezes momentarily at the question, his mind instantly trying to figure out what to tell Liam. He clearly knows everything between him and Louis up until the start of Christmas break, but does he know that they went on a date? Does he know that they’re considering getting together? The safe bet is yes, because Liam is that type of person that has eyes everywhere, but nothing is official between Harry and Louis yet, so does Harry really have to tell him that something may happen? The easy answer is no, he doesn’t have to disclose any part of his personal life to anyone, because it’s his life. But Liam is his best friend, and he will find out eventually—especially if it turns into anything—but for some reason Harry doesn’t want to tell him just quite yet. He just wants things to be officially official, that way Liam can’t try and talk him out of it or anything. 

“Oh, I didn’t do anything, just studied and slept in,” he says casually, perking up his eyebrows as he drinks his coffee. Liam stares at him, blinking once before sighing, seemingly accepting Harry’s answer. He eyes the thermos before sticking a hand out, pouting his lower lip. “Help me, I’m dying,” he whines, wiggling his fingers. Harry stares at him in pity for a second, before laughing, shoving the thermos into his hand. Liam smiles, bringing the hot drink to his lips and taking a big swig. “Thanks babe,” he teases, winking before handing the thermos back. Harry rolls his eyes, so happy to be back in his normal relationship with Liam. He’s glad that he didn’t bring up anything to do with Louis, even though it’s kind of an unspoken question between them. Either way, he appreciates it. 

Physics is interesting as always, and the next two classes drag on a bit, with nothing notably impressive happening in either one. As soon as the bell rings to release Harry’s chemistry class, Liam drags while Harry doesn’t, as it’s the final class for the day, and he’s excited to find Louis before he leaves, if not to just say hi and maybe give him a little kiss. He’s a romantic, what can he say? He makes sure Liam is off his trail before turning down the sophomore math hallway, where he knows he’ll find Louis. His locker is located in this hallway. He skirts around the likes of Niall Horan—internally cringing as memories of the last time he encountered him entering his brain—before coming to a stop at the end of the hallway, spotting Louis in the middle, at his locker. 

He smiles before he can stop himself, the simple sight of Louis making his heart beat a little faster, and happiness to surge through him. That is, until Louis closes his locker and Harry sees the look on his face. He has wide, guilty eyes, his lips are angled downward in an ashamed frown, and his knuckles are white from gripping the door to his locker so tightly. Harry’s face immediately falls as worry seeps into his system and he wonders what’s wrong. He automatically dashes forward, not running, but walking with a purpose. He weaves through the light crowd, more concern flooding him as he notices Louis' lower lip is trembling, as if he’s trying to keep himself from crying. What is going on? Harry reaches him in short enough time, coming to a stop right next to him, tucking his lips in once before speaking up. “Louis?” he says quietly. Louis flinches harshly, spinning on his heel to face Harry. His eyes go wider and Harry is scared when he sees a flash of fear of them. 

“H-Harry! Hi,” he says, his voice shaky and faux-cheerful. Harry scrunches his brow as he steps forward, halfway lifting a hand before stopping, noticing that Louis is backing away from him. “Louis, what’s wrong?” Harry asks gently, staying still despite wanting to just pull Louis into a hug. He’s aware of the eyes on them, but he can’t care less. All he cares about is making Louis feel better. Louis gulps, tucking his lips in too before speaking up, his voice small and full of shame for some reason. “I don’t want to cheat on you,” he whispers. The words throw Harry for a loop, and he takes a minute to process them. Cheating? Why is Louis worried about cheating on Harry? Does he have doubts? Or is Harry not good enough for him? That thought strikes Harry the hardest, and he suddenly is feeling is own form of doubt. Is he not good enough to keep Louis' eyes from wandering? 

“What do you mean, cheat on me?” he questions, his voice gentle. Louis gulps again, his face paling as he locks his eyes with Harry, even though it appears to be the last thing he wants to do. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. He opens his mouth once, before closing it again, his jaw clenching as he picks out his words. Harry stays silent, staring at him, worried. Eventually, Louis takes a deep breath, and speaks. “I accidentally flirted with someone,” Louis blurts out, and then it’s a rush of words afterward. “I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry! I’m just, I’m so used to doing that, and I have to remind myself that you and I are together, and I feel completely horrible, and I just—,” He continues to babble on, his accent thickening to the point where Harry can’t really understand him. 

But he doesn’t need to. As Louis rambles on with unnecessary apologies, Harry slowly smiles as relief settles over him, and adoration takes its place. He realizes that Louis really doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, if he thinks that flirting before they’re even official is against the rules. His heart swells with admiration for the boy and how much he’s willing to sacrifice and try to be the best boyfriend ever, so much so that he’s trying before he even has to. Louis stops talking when Harry puts his hands on both sides of his face, unable to wipe the grin away. “Louis,” he says firmly, chuckling a bit when Louis stutters a bit, eyes dilating in fear once again as he tries to worm his way out of his grasp. However, he stops struggling when Harry continues on. “My sweet Louis,” he giggles, rubbing his thumbs along his cheekbones. 

“You can’t cheat on me, I’m not your boyfriend yet,” he reassures him. Louis' eyebrows crumple at that, and he tilts his head in confusion. “What?” he replies. Harry gazes at him calmly for a moment, before exhaling a shaky laugh, dropping his hands from Louis' face to grab his hands. He pulls him away from his locker, into the adjacent hallway—the senior literature hallway—where he stands closer to the sophomore, his gaze more affectionate. There are a few people lingering, but not near as many as in the other hallway. He wishes that they could be completely alone for this, but he doesn’t mind the few witnesses. Maybe it’ll make eventually revealing their relationship to the school a little easier. 

“I’m not your boyfriend yet, so you can’t cheat on me,” he repeats, smiling sympathetically as he lifts a hand to rub Louis' arm. Louis swallows, his eyes narrowing in confusion, before his expression changes to one of frustration. “Well, hurry up and be my boyfriend!” he cries out, a little loudly. Harry blushes, looking over Louis' shoulder at the people down the hallway, who glance their way but don’t look for long. He looks back at Louis, who is looking at him expectantly, raising his eyebrows, his nostrils flaring just a tad. Harry chuckles, rather appreciating how eager Louis is, and he reaches out to take Louis' hands in his own, giving them a squeeze. He steps even closer, piercing his eyes with Louis', wanting this moment to be as special as possible. It’s a moment he never thought he’d ever experience, and he wants to be able to remember it. 

Especially if things go south, he wants to be able to remember how happy he was in this moment. Crazy how things change, is it not? At the start of story, Harry was an eighteen-year-old boy who spent the majority of his free time hating a sixteen-year-old boy known for sleeping around the school. And now, here he is, with the same boy, about to give him his heart. He doesn’t think about the consequences, the effects, the long-term, nothing. He exists in this moment, everything else fading away around him. “Louis Tomlinson,” he says slowly. He hears Louis' breath catch in his throat at his name, and Harry briefly stumbles, chuckling a bit as he blushes, dropping his gaze for a second only to lift it back up and lock eyes with Louis. Those precious blue eyes. Eyes that he wouldn’t mind drowning in. Galaxies that he can’t wait to explore. 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” 

What follows next is a beat of silence as the weight of the words falls onto their shoulders, and Louis' face slowly melts into an expression of ecstasy. It starts with his eyes, a beautiful shine overtaking them, before spreading to his lips, where he smiles from cheek to cheek, his dimples showing, all of his teeth pearly white and visible. “Fuck yes,” he breathes back, and before Harry can remind him that they’re not in private, he lunges at him, throwing his arms around him and standing up on his tiptoes so that’s he’s the taller one, crashing their lips together. Harry stumbles a bit at the force of Louis throwing himself against him, but he regains his balance easily, his hands moving to grip Louis' hips to steady them both. 

The kiss is intense, as it should be. It is their first kiss as boyfriends, after all, it makes sense that it’s intense, animated, spirited, whatever word you want to use. Louis is particularly desperate, pushing against Harry some more despite the fact they’re still at school, and Harry laughs into the kiss, pulling away and feeling a rush of affection when Louis doesn’t open his eyes at first, leaning forward again, searching for Harry, before realizing that the kiss has ended, and he blushes, opening his eyes again. “Now you can’t flirt with other boys,” Harry teases, and Louis flushes, that guilty look clouding his eyes again as he nods furiously. “I won’t, I promise,” he says. Harry nods, his smile a bit more serious. He reaches out a hand to touch Louis' cheek, before he morphs his grin into a smirk, and leans forward suddenly, grabbing Louis' hand and yanking him down the hallway in the direction they came. 

Louis lets out a cry of surprise that quickly turns into laughter as they both break out into a run, Harry leading the way. Harry can’t keep the smile off of his face as he turns down another completely empty hallway, with one destination in mind. He’s high off the fact that he’s finally, officially dating Louis Tomlinson, and can act on all those impulses. Including this one. 

Meanwhile, back in that hallway where he and Louis just made things official, there’s two people lingering, who are in the little vestibule between classrooms when they overheard Harry. They didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was just too interesting and too difficult to block out. When they peeked around the corner, it was just in time to see the kiss, and it was with wide eyes that Zayn turned back to look at Niall. “Interesting,” he had said, narrowing his eyes and smirking in a rather malevolent manner. 

However, Louis and Harry are oblivious to that little side-event, and shall remain so for a while, so we won’t focus on it any more than we have to. But just know, that they don’t exist in secret anymore. Moving on, Harry drags Louis back to the bathrooms of the fine arts hallway, the bathroom with the lock on the door and the place where they first interacted. Harry pushes the door open, pulling Louis in with him, before shutting the door and locking it, finally turning back to look at Louis, who scans the small room once, before chuckling, his eyes dark and sultry as he looks back at Harry. “Are we taking a trip down memory lane?” he asks, his voice gravelly and aroused. 

Harry chuckles, gliding towards Louis and gripping his hips, pushing him back until his back hits the wall. Louis immediately latches his hands around Harry’s hips, gripping them tightly. “You ever think about that first time?” he asks, his voice husky. Louis' eyes darken considerably at that, tongue sliding across his lower lip as he suddenly pushes back against Harry, spinning them around to where he’s the one pushing Harry against the wall, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip seductively. “You know I wasn’t really hiding from Niall that day,” he purrs, placing his palm flat against Harry’s chest and dragging it down, stopping right at his crotch. Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise, his breath speeding up as Louis traces the outline of his pants. “You weren’t?” he asks, and Louis chuckles, shaking his head as he presses his body against Harry’s, and licks the underside of his jaw. Harry shivers at that, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels the lust pool in his stomach. 

“I don’t think you realize how desirable you are, baby,” Louis whispers, nipping Harry’s earlobe before finally dropping to his knees, undoing Harry’s belt and fly with expert hands. Harry gasps, chest rising and falling as he tangles his hands in Louis' soft hair. Louis chuckles as he pulls Harry’s cock out, holding it loosely, leaning back slightly to just look at it. “I wasn’t lying when I said you have a pretty cock,” he murmurs, eyes sliding up to look at Harry as he kisses just the tip. Harry let’s out a growl, his grip on Louis' hair tightening. Louis runs a loose fist over Harry’s length, flicking his wrist when he hits the head. “Prettier cock than Nick’s,” he says suddenly. Harry’s eyes fly open as hatred boils through his veins and glares down at Louis. “Why are you bringing him up right now?” he asks through gritted teeth. Louis blinks up at him, maintaining eye contact as he slowly suctions his lips around Harry’s head, sucking lightly, causing Harry’s glare to falter as his face contorts in pleasure. Louis removes his lips then, settling on the back of his feet as he stares up at Harry, who stares back at him, lips pressed into a straight, frustrated line. 

“I only slept with him to make you jealous,” he says, stroking Harry’s cock once more. Except it doesn’t pull a reaction out of Harry, because Harry is shocked, eyes wide as Louis reveal yet another secret. “Really?” he asks, completely serious. Louis nods, standing up and looking at Harry, his hand still wrapped around his cock, lightly stroking it. “You’re not like the others, Harry Styles,” he whispers, all signs of mischief void from his face. His words ring true. Harry stares back at Louis, his mouth open, little breaths escaping as Louis speeds up the movement of his hand around his cock, squeezing at the base and running his thumb over the slit at the head. “I’m not?” he manages to say, breathless. Louis chuckles, shaking his head and pressing his lips against Harry’s cheek, smirking against the skin as he rotates his hand around Harry’s cock, pumping him to his orgasm. “You made me feel something that I hadn’t ever felt before,” he murmurs, but he’s pretty sure that Harry is only half-listening, the other half focused on reaching his high. 

His hips buck into Louis' hand, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open, soft whimpers escaping his throat. Louis closes his eyes as he leans his forehead against Harry’s temple, breathing him in. He moves his hand so fast that it becomes a blur, and soon, Harry comes, gasping, his hand locking around Louis' wrist to stop him from moving, the pleasure blinding him. He comes all over his and Louis' fingers, which slide together a bit before they both pull away, Harry resting his head back against the wall. Louis leans his head away from Harry’s as he brings his fingers to his lips, slipping three inside and swallowing was on them, humming in approval at the familiar taste. “Why is that so hot?” Harry asks, watching Louis lick his fingers clean. 

Louis opens his eyes, laughing around his fingers before removing them, shrugging his shoulders and swallowing again. Harry uses his clean hand to zip his pants back up, before moving to the sink and rinsing off the other. Louis sidles up behind him, pressing his crotch to Harry’s ass and grinding down hard, looping his arms under Harry’s torso. Harry stands back up, looking at Louis' reflection in the mirror, at his rather harsh expression. “Sometimes I really want to fuck you like you fuck me,” he says, his voice rough. Harry continues to stare at Louis for a moment, before smirking only slightly, pushing his ass back against Louis' crotch. “Maybe one day I’ll let you,” he says. Louis' eyes widen at the prospect, and Harry chuckles, turning around and quickly pressing his hand down onto Louis' crotch, feeling his hardened cock through the material. 

“Would you like that? Being the top?” he hisses, palming Louis. Louis whimpers, nodding his head as he bites down on his lip, whimpering still. Harry laughs, lifting his hand only to plunge it down the front of Louis' pants, his fingers running down his heated length, teasing. He traced all the way to the head, before dipping his finger in the pre-cum lathered slit, and dragging his hand all the way back up to his base, before wrapping his fingers around and squeezing on it. He tugs gently at the same time, causing Louis' arms to fly around Harry’s neck, crossing and pulling him flush against his chest, burying his face in his neck as Harry continues to give him the hand job. Louis presses his cheek against Harry’s pectoral, closing his eyes as he lets himself get lost in the feeling of Harry’s hand on him. Harry closes his hand into a tight fists as he runs it up and down Louis' arousal in sure strokes. 

“You said that I made you feel something you’ve never felt before,” Harry whispers into Louis' ear. Louis moans in response, his hips jerking forward as he begins to feel the blood rush to his crotch. “Do you feel it right now?” he says, his other arm winding around his waist. Louis nods, trembling as he starts to fall over the edge. Harry smiles to himself, tightening his grip around Louis' cock once more. “What is it?” he asks. Louis gasps, hips fucking back into Harry’s hand as he falls over the edge, and the answer spills out of his mouth as he spills into Harry’s hand. “Safe!” he cries out, before groaning and shaking, collapsing against Harry’s chest. “You make me feel safe,” he whimpers, hanging onto Harry as if for dear life. Harry is extremely overwhelmed by those words, words escaping him as he milks Louis for all he’s got, and then removes his hand, throwing his arm around Louis and crushing him against his chest in a tight hug. Safe. It’s such a heavy thing to process, that Harry makes him feel safe. It says so much on Louis' feelings for him, and the only thing he can do is hug him, and hope that he feels safe. 

They stay like that for a moment as Louis catches his breath and Harry tries not to let his emotions overcome him, even though he really just wants to break down crying happy tears for some reason. He eventually releases Louis, turning around to wash his hands, not quite as adventurous as Louis this time. He hears Louis zip his jeans back up, and pull his sweater back down to cover his waist. “So,” he says as Harry turns around, a cute little smile on his face. “I guess we’re official now,” Harry laughs, throwing an arm around Louis' shoulders as he picks up both of their backpacks and unlocks the door. He hands Louis his bag, removing his arm as they both sling them over their shoulders, and Louis runs his hands through his hair, and Harry adjusts his beanie. They doubt that there’s anyone left in the school to see them, but just in case. 

Harry unlocks the door, and they both step out into the hallway, walking towards the exit. The two share a glance, before Harry smiles, and takes Louis' hand, linking their fingers. There’s nobody to see them walking out hand-in-hand, but for some strange reason, Harry kind of wishes there was. As if he wants everyone to know that Louis is his. The notorious slut of the school, now exclusively his, peasants bow down. He pulls his sunglasses from his side backpack pocket, and looks over at Louis as he slides them on, smirking just a bit. Louis' gaze goes in and out of focus as he stares at Harry, stumbling just a bit over his feet as they walk outside. Harry chuckles, looking back in front of him. 

They walk to Louis' car, before coming to a stop on the driver’s side door. Louis looks up eagerly, curiosity making his eyes a light baby blue. Harry giggles, lifting his and Louis' intwined hands to stroke Louis' cheek. “I like this already,” he says. Louis blushes, before gathering his confidence and smiling, nodding in agreement. “I can’t wait to call you my boyfriend,” he says quietly, smiling lazily. Harry’s heart aches at the word ‘boyfriend’, and he smiles again, squeezing Louis' hand in his own. Louis takes a deep breath, before lifting himself up on his tiptoes to hug Harry properly, resting his chin on his shoulder, embracing him tightly. 

“My beautiful boyfriend,” he breathes. 

 

“Relax, Louis,” Harry says, reaching over and rubbing Louis' back until he finally loosens his muscles. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. An old friend of Harry’s—that animal called paranoia—has latched itself to Louis in this their first week anniversary. It’s been one week since they made things official in the senior literature hallway, and honestly, Harry hasn’t felt this good in months. Every day he’s woken up happy, looking forward to the day ahead, looking forward to seeing Louis, to spending time with him, to just being in his presence. He’s lovesick in the best way possible, and while he forces himself not to be too affectionate at school, afterwards he just can’t hold down the romantic in him. 

He isn’t one for stupid gifts and little notes in the locker though, he would like to clarify. He’s one to touch, and smile, and kiss, and talk for hours about nothing as long as the person he’s talking to enjoys listening to him. Louis definitely seems to love hearing him talk, sitting in his bedroom against his chest, holding his hands in his as Harry rambles on about mundane things like the weather, and his day at school, and things that he likes to do. Louis doesn’t speak much, but mostly because he loves hearing Harry do it so much. They’re learning so much about each other, so much so that there’s literally an endless list of things for them to discover about themselves. 

A week isn’t a lot of time for a relationship to progress, but Louis and Harry seem to be making up for lost time, spending every waking moment together. By that, I mean after school. During school they don’t hardly see each other, being two grades apart and agreeing that sitting together at lunch isn’t something to venture into until they officially decide to make their relationship public, it’s really just before and after school. It’s a wonder they haven’t grown bored of each other yet, but I suppose that that’s just the honeymoon phase. Both are aware that that’s what they’re living through, and while Harry knows it can’t last forever, he’s looking forward to falling into that content, comfortable phase, where he’s dating his best friend. 

They’re close, but not quite there. They also—contrary to popular belief—haven’t had full-fledged sex since they became official. Trust me, Louis has tried initiating it, but Harry has refused, and for good reason, too. What is that reason? Well, he certainly hasn’t told Louis, being very mysterious about it. Louis is curious, but extremely respectful, not protesting at all, even as the rejections began to pile up. Harry picked up on that, and found himself caring even more for Louis after that. To know that Louis sees and respects his wishes, and doesn’t complain, it’s heartwarming. There is so much more to that kid than meets the eye, and part of Harry is sad that nobody will ever know that. The mask he’s created is just too thick to be torn off. 

They’re just happy. They’re so happy. Or at least, mostly. There is one little thing that’s bothering them. Well, one of them. Louis. It became apparent to Harry on their one-week anniversary—something that they are not celebrating because they don’t want to be that couple—that Louis was acting a little paranoid, eyes wide and swiveling around as he looked at everything but didn’t see. He was jumpy, too, especially when anyone went to touch him, even Harry. Harry wondered if maybe at first it was something going on in his home life, but he didn’t know anything about Louis' relationship with his family. From what he could piece together, they were wealthy and provided Louis with everything he needed, but that’s about all he got. He hasn’t met his parents, has only briefly interacted with his siblings, so he can’t really know. 

To be fair, Harry hasn’t introduced Louis to his parents, either, at least not as his boyfriend, just as his friend. It was kind of a silent mutual decision to just put family introductions on the back burner, just until they’re more comfortable with themselves and their relationship. That’s all Harry really wants. For both of them to be as comfortable as possible. Like aforementioned, they’re in the honeymoon phase, so they have to take everything that comes at them with a grain of salt, because soon, this pretty pink filter will fade away and the element of intrigue will disappear as their relationship matures with them. 

“I’m afraid,” Louis says, opening his eyes and turning his head to look over at Harry, who is sitting next to him, about a foot of space between them. Harry tilts his head in confusion as he rotates to sit criss-crossed in front of Louis. “Afraid of what?” he asks gently. Louis stares at him for a moment, as if he doesn’t want to answer, but he does, his face falling. “Reverting back to who I was,” he mumbles. “Who I am,” He looks away from Harry then, turning around and standing up, moving to stand next to the window. The setting sun highlights his figure, a dark shadow against the melting horizon. Harry’s face crumples in confusion as he leans toward Louis, stopping himself before he can get up to stand next to him. He doesn’t want to crowd him right now. 

“Who are you, Louis?” he says quietly. Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, the only sign of life being the subtle rise of his shoulders as he breathes. Harry can feel the worry pulling at his heartstrings the longer the silence goes on, but he doesn’t dare say anything. He has to let Louis answer for himself. When Louis turns his head around, the sunlight refracts off of his blue eyes and makes him look more angel than human, so breathtakingly beautiful it’s tragic. And it is tragic, because Harry can see the glistening tears like diamonds in his eyes, and when he blinks, one trails down his cheek, sparkling. He looks at Harry over his shoulder, and Harry finds himself frozen where he is by Louis' gaze, unable even he wanted to. It’s a powerful gaze, full of raw emotion, and he wonders how long Louis has been hiding it. Hiding it under that mask. 

“I’m a whore, that’s who I am,” he whispers, holding his gaze for a second longer, before turning back to look out of the window. As soon as Harry is released from that gaze, he feels his face crumple and his heart ache and a mixture of compassion and anger surge through him. Compassion because Louis is his boyfriend, and he’s hurting, and Harry wants to comfort him and reassure him and tell him that he is not a whore, that he’s not even close. Anger at those who made Louis believe the rumors. Anger at those who made him feel like he had to embrace that horrible name and build his reputation around it. Anger at those who thought it was okay to force the true Louis—a sweet, innocent, sixteen-year-old boy—to be covered up by this fake version of himself. How dare they. 

And how dare he believe it for so long. How dare he not give him the benefit of the fucking doubt. How dare he hate him. He doesn’t know anything about his past, he doesn’t know what he’s been through, he doesn’t know anything. And he judged still. And he hated still. And he was the they he is angry at now. But now isn’t the time to beat himself up over the past. Now is the time to be Louis' boyfriend, and be there for him. And so he swallows his own tears, and his anger, leaving behind only the compassion, and he slides off of his bed and walks around to stand next to Louis, staring out at the beautiful sunset with him. He sees Louis' head turn in his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t look over, just staring calmly, hoping that his steadiness brings Louis some too. 

“I am so afraid of hurting you, Harry, and by complete accident,” he breathes, and the words steal Harry’s breath from him. Never has he been in a situation where someone cared about him that much to say those things to him. He feels himself falling in love with Louis every day, but it’s moments like these that make him want to say the words. He never does say them, because he knows it’s too early and he isn’t even sure if he knows what love is yet, but in this moment, they burn the tip of his tongue. “You won’t hurt me, Louis,” he replies softly. He finally turns his head to meet Louis' gaze, and Louis' eyes are like stormy oceans, fear and guilt fighting one another in those striking azure irises, and Harry wants to calm them. “That fear that you feel will be enough to stop you,” he continues on, reaching a hand up to wipe away Louis' tears. 

Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Harry gently shushes him, stepping closer and cupping his cheek now. “I also hope that my love for you is enough that you never ever feel the need to go searching for more,” he adds. Louis' breath catches in his throat at that, as more tears gather in his eyes, and he lifts a hand to touch Harry’s cheek. “You’re too good to me,” he whispers, before his face crumples and the tears spill over, like crystalline waterfalls down his smooth, pale cheeks. Harry panics slightly, immediately pulling Louis flush against his chest, letting him cry into his torso, wrapping his arms tightly the smaller boy. Louis sobs against him, hands grabbing fistfuls of Harry’s sweater, the noises of despair enough to bring Harry to tears himself. He begins to sway just a bit, one hand rubbing up and down Louis' spine, the other gently stroking his curls. “Shh, it’s all going to be okay,” he whispers, resting his chin on Louis' head and closing his own eyes, swallowing his tears. 

They stay standing by the window until the sun melts completely over the horizon, and they’re washed in a breathtaking orange afterglow. Louis' sobs have subsided by then, but he remains cuddled into Harry’s chest, the only noises being a few slight sniffles every now and then. Harry has moved his head to rest his cheek on Louis' soft hair, his eyes closed as he holds Louis, hoping that he’s helping. A few more minutes of silence pass, until Louis speaks up, his voice thick with tears. “I never thought being in a relationship could make me this happy,” he says, pulling away from Harry’s chest and looking up at him. Harry looks back at him, searching his eyes, and relaxing immensely as he sees that Louis' eyes are calm once again. He smiles gently, pushing Louis' hair out of his eyes before caressing his cheek. “I hope to always make you happy,” he replies. To anyone watching, it’s the sappiest of moments, but to the two boys actually experiencing the moment, it’s perfect. 

Louis' lips lift up in a cute, lopsided smile before he takes Harry’s face in his hands and pulls his mouth to meet his. Harry can taste the leftover salt water from Louis' tears, but it’s quickly lost the more he kisses him, Louis' familiar taste covering it up. It’s a slow, sensual kiss, both hesitating to speed it up, just taking their time moving their lips together, taking it all in. Harry lets his hands trace the sides of Louis' body, slotting in the space between his ribs before settling on his hips bones, not grabbing them, just touching. They break away for air, and Louis pants a little, swallowing before tucking his lips in, and blushing for some reason. Harry giggles, leaning down to peck a kiss to Louis' nose, before moving his hands around to grip at his ass, pulling him closer, their crotches brushing together. “Oh, and you’re not a whore, by the way,” he says, his voice casual, an attempt to crawl out of this angsty pool that they’re swimming in. 

Louis hesitates, before scoffing, rolling his eyes and latching his hands on Harry’s hipbones. “I kind of am, Harry,” he says. “More than you can count on your pretty little fingers, remember?” He lifts a hand to wiggle his fingers in Harry’s face, a sad reminiscent smile on his face. Harry catches Louis' hand, pressing his lips to his fingers before releasing it, resting his hand on Louis' neck, feeling his pulse through the thin skin. “That doesn’t make you a whore, Louis, it makes you a sixteen-year-old boy with a sex drive,” he remarks. Louis blinks back at him, before shrugging his shoulders and looking away, up at the ceiling. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmurs. He doesn’t return his gaze to Harry’s, and Harry bites his lip, deciding to take this moment as an opportunity to introduce a concept that he’s been preparing himself for. 

“I think we should do something to get our minds off of all this heaviness,” he says lightly. That catches Louis' attention, his head snapping back and his eyebrows raised. “What do you have in mind?” he asks, pressing his body back against Harry’s. Harry suddenly blushes, the nerves arriving like bees in his stomach, and he can’t get the words out. Louis notices the hesitation, and his brow furrows in concern, hands reaching forward before Harry finally speaks. “Make love to me, Louis Tomlinson,” he blurts out, face burning crimson as the words settle between them. Louis is confused at first, looking at Harry as if he just spoke Latin, but slowly, realization dawns on him. Along with the realization is excitement, and he grins as he raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?” he asks, disbelief hiding the true concern in his voice. 

Harry nods firmly, leaning down and crashing his lips against Louis' before he can ask again. He’s thought long and hard about this, and he can’t imagine losing his virginity—in a way—to anyone else except Louis. He trusts him, he’s been with him in every other way, and he knows that if it becomes too much, he won’t hesitate to stop. But Harry is ready. Louis is surprised by Harry’s forwardness, but kisses him back nonetheless, dragging his hands down his back, blunt nails unable to pierce the skin through the thick fabric. The two stumble back towards the bed, Harry toppling over and Louis crawling on top of him, holding himself up and hovering over Harry. Harry likes the slight dominance already, focusing on it to distract himself from his nerves that are slowly building in his stomach. 

Louis continues kissing him, keeping it slow, really letting Harry speed it up, letting him set the pace. Harry doesn’t speed it up too much, preferring the slower pace always to the faster one. He lets his hands push Louis' sweats down, his hand immediately wrapping around his length out of habit. Louis moaned into the kiss, his mouth falling open and granting Harry access. Harry pays attention to the kiss and Louis' cock in his hand as Louis begins to unlace the drawstring on Harry’s joggers. Harry feels his heart speed up in anticipation, and in response he speeds up his ministrations on Louis' cock, and uses his other hand to pull his mouth more harshly against his. Louis gently pushes the pants down to Harry’s knees before dragging a hand back up his inner thigh, fingers resting in the dip between his hipbones, before finally sliding over and taking his hot erection in his capable hand. 

Harry pulls away from the kiss then, the stimulation becoming too much as he arches his head back and groans at the feeling of Louis' hand on him. He feels Louis' cock slide out of his grip as Louis backs up, keeping up the pace of his own hand, pulling the joggers the rest of the way off and tossing them to the side. He settles between Harry’s legs, eyes sliding up to meet with Harry’s dark green ones as he props himself up and takes Harry into his mouth. He swirls his tongue along the tip, collecting the pre-cum that had gathered there and swallowing it before taking more of him, humming gently around it. Harry whimpers, his hands clenching fistfuls of the bedsheets. Louis continued to take more and more of Harry’s cock, breathing deeply as he did, going slow and steady, all the way until he feels the head hit the back of his throat and he swallows. Harry cries out audibly at that, a choked off sound that turns Louis on and prompts him to take the next step. 

He starts to slowly move his head up and down on Harry’s length, to provide a distracting ecstasy as he slips in a finger along with his mouth, sucking harshly to get it nice and wet in preparation. Harry’s eyes are screwed shut and he doesn’t seem to notice much of a change. That is, until Louis removes the glistening finger and carefully moves it down to Harry’s hole, tracing it lightly, not applying any pressure. He keeps his lips wrapped around Harry’s shaft, eyes wide and open as Harry’s open as well, and he gasps, automatically clenching around nothing out of nerves. He locks eyes with Louis, who raises his eyebrows, a silent question. Harry presses his lips into a tight line, relaxing against the pillows as he nods, lifting his eyes to the ceiling and taking deep breaths. 

Louis traces his entrance once more before very gently pressing his finger inside, moaning slightly as Harry immediately clenches around it, letting out a soft moan. Louis pulls his mouth off of Harry’s cock, brow crinkling as he begins to move his finger. Harry opens his eyes as the pleasure of having something inside him consumes him, and he sees Louis' confused look and his confused himself. “What’s wrong?” he pants. Louis' eyes dart up to his, and he blushes, shaking his head. “Nothing, it’s just…,” he trails off before looking back up at Harry. “Have you fingered yourself before?” Harry blushes furiously at the question, looking away and biting his lip. Louis chuckles, and Harry groans as he feels another finger slide in alongside the first, Louis pumping them in and out a little bit faster. “That actually makes things easier,” he murmurs, curling his fingers upward suddenly and pressing against Harry’s front. 

“Oh! Louis!” Harry screams, back arching as he presses his hips down further against Louis' fingers. Louis chuckles, catching Harry’s straining cock between his lips as he continues to laugh, sucking gently as he continues to drive his fingers into Harry, his own erection painful. He grinds his hips down against the mattress to provide himself with some relief, but he’s growing impatient. He reminds himself to go slow though, especially this next part, because he’s pretty positive Harry hasn’t gotten this far. He gently slows his fingers, before pulling them out completely, smiling as Harry whimpers at the loss of both his fingers and then his mouth as he sits up. He kicks off his sweats before moving to sit between Harry’s legs, rubbing his inner thighs comfortingly. “This next part won’t feel good at first,” he says gently in the now-dark room. Harry laughs a nervous laugh, reaching over to his nightstand as he answers. 

“I figured as much,” he says, before throwing Louis the bottle of lube and a condom. Louis expertly catches them, sitting them to the side as he bends over Harry’s waist, hovering above him, his lips brushing against his as he speaks, love in his voice. “I can’t wait to feel you surround me, baby,” he whispers. Harry pants, his hands grabbing at Louis' hips. “Make love to me, Louis Tomlinson,” he repeats from the beginning, and Louis smiles, carefully kissing Harry once before sitting back up and reaching for the supplies. “I’ll go only the speed you want me to, okay?” he says, and Harry nods, settling back against the mattress and taking a deep breath, hands falling away from Louis as he closes his eyes. Louis stares at Harry’s smooth porcelain face as he rolls the condom over his length and squirts a respectful amount of lube on his hands, slicking up his cock probably more than necessary, and applying some to Harry’s entrance too. He wants this to be—quite literally—as smooth as possible. 

He takes a deep breath, before carefully pushing Harry’s legs to each side, trying not to let his sharp intake of breath discourage him. He scoots forward, grabbing ahold of his length and lining it up with Harry’s entrance. He looks at Harry, who still has his eyes shut, a rather angelic expression on his face as he focuses on staying relaxed. That’s good. That’ll make it easier. Louis inhales deeply again, before pushing his sensitive head against Harry’s hole, relaxing a bit when he’s able to slip it relatively easily past the tight inner muscle. Having never been inside someone before, it’s a completely new sensation, and it feels amazing. Just being barely inside of Harry is an exhilarating feeling that Louis doesn’t think he can ever get used to. For Harry, it’s kind of the same. He inhales deeply as he feels Louis breach him, the stretch already uncomfortable, but incomparable to actually being the one to be pushing inside. As Louis continues to slide inside of him, his muscles clench around him, trying to adjust, and Harry groans as he tries to focus on the fact that it’s going to start feeling good soon. 

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis says, releasing his cock as he gets more than three-quarters of the way inside of Harry, moving instead to grab his hips, keeping them still. Harry gasps, eyes finally opening and locking with Louis'. Louis immediately searches them, trying to find any traces of actual pain, but he relaxes when he doesn’t see any. He gives one final roll of his hips, and then he’s buried completely inside of Harry, his body shuddering as he feels Harry clench around his length. “God, that’s amazing,” he groans, ducking his head to let it fall between his shoulders. Harry laughs a bit, before sighing and resting back on the pillows. “Now you know how I feel every time,” he breathes. Louis laughs too, before looking expectantly at Harry. Harry stares back at him, gulping before reaching his arms up and locking them around Louis' neck. “Go slow, but please fuck me,” he says, a begging tone in his voice. 

Louis' eyes darken at his words, and he nods, immediately pulling his hips back, until he’s halfway out of Harry, and then slowly thrusting back inside of him. “Louis,” Harry whines in response, his hands moving to grip Louis' shoulders, nails piercing the skin. Louis repeats the movement, making his thrust a little bit harder just to see what noise Harry will make. It’s a delicious one, one that Louis wouldn't mind hearing over and over again, so he pulls his knees up closer and sits up, ignoring the scratches Harry’s nails leave on his back as he does, and he takes a deep breath as he picks a moderate pace, relishing and losing himself in the feeling of Harry’s muscles sliding around his cock, tightening and relaxing, and he’s already so close. Harry is a mess in front of him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes look all over the room, unable to focus on just one thing. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Louis gasps, rolling his hips back against Harry. Harry whimpers, hands grabbing greedily at Louis. Louis lets go of on of Harry’s hips and catches a hand in his, slotting his fingers between his and holding tightly. “I’m close,” Harry suddenly says, and Louis' eyes pop. He smirks before he can stop himself, heart swelling for Harry at the fact that he doesn’t know it can get better. He gives his hand a squeeze before suddenly changing angles slightly, and thrusting into him again, directly into his prostate. “A-ah! Fuck!” Harry screams, his eyes immediately landing on Louis and crinkling with pleasure as wave after wave of pleasure comes crashing over him. “Patience, precious boy,” Louis says quietly, fucking into his prostate again, and smiling at the answering moan. 

Louis continues driving into Harry’s prostate for a few more moments, before he feels the lust growing in his stomach, and he begins to lose his rhythm. Harry notices, and forces himself to lift his head to look at Louis, gasping as he too finds himself losing his control. “You look so hot when you’re about to come,” he says, and Louis' black eyes find his, and Harry watches as his face crumples and he lets out a long cry, hips stuttering to a stop as he comes, body trembling with the intensity of it all. Harry feels his own arousal increase at watching Louis come, and he uses his hand that isn’t holding Louis' to pump his length, unable to deny himself the simple added pleasure. Louis' hips begin to move a little as he recovers, and the stimulation is teasing to Harry, who greedily pushes back against Louis' cock. Louis clearly gets the message, blushing slightly as he picks up the movements of his hips again. Harry’s eyes fall shut of their own accord as the feeling of Louis filling him up becomes too much. He runs a tight fist over his length, and then he falls over the edge. 

He comes hard, one of the most intense orgasms of his life, and he’s unable to keep his mouth shut as the noises spill out, Louis' name intermixed with them. He shoots pretty white streaks onto his stomach, body convulsing around Louis' cock as he comes. Everything is blue, blue with pleasure, and he’s seeing stars. He sees them in Louis' eyes as he finally relaxes, gasping from the weight of such an intense orgasm. Louis stares at him, still out of breath himself, and only a few seconds last before he’s slowly pulling out, keeping his eyes on Harry the whole time. Harry winces at the loss, glad that it’s the weekend because he’s going to be very sore tomorrow and the next day. His eyes shut on their own again, which explains his flinching at feeling the warm wetness of Louis' tongue on his chest, licking up the cum he shot out over himself. “God, that’ll never not be hot,” he moans. Louis chuckles, and Harry opens his mouth just in time to see him wipe his mouth. He didn’t lick it all, which is probably good because Harry is sure that it’s not good to ingest that much cum, but the fact that he did at all was just so hot to him. 

“I’m addicted to the taste of you, what can I say,” Louis replies casually, before standing up and walking into Harry’s bathroom to clean up. Harry is too tired to move more than grabbing some tissues and wiping his stomach clean. He tosses them into the bin next to his bed before groaning, pulling up his pants and turning onto his side, before ultimately deciding that that’s too painful and going back to his back. Louis emerges from the bathroom with his pants back on but still shirtless, and Harry’s favorite beanie on his head. Harry raises his eyebrows as he looks at it, propping himself up on his elbows, ignoring the pain between his ass. “Why do you have my beanie on?” he asks. Louis collapses on the bed next to him, throwing a hand over his shoulder and leaning against the headboard, snugging his head on Harry’s chest. “Because your family will be home soon and I have sex hair,” he explains. 

Harry pops an eyebrow as he tilts his head down to look at Louis, who looks up at him innocently. Harry narrows his eyes, before reaching over and looping his hands under Louis' arms and pulling him onto his lap easily, ignoring Louis' little yelp of surprise. Louis straddles Harry’s hips, his hands instantly locking around his neck as he balances himself. “You are not going to just take my virginity and leave, Louis William Tomlinson,” he says matter-of-factly. Louis pauses a moment, before bursting into giggles, pinching one of Harry’s cheeks gently. “Your parents are so going to know now,” he says, but leans against Harry’s chest nonetheless, wrapped around him like a koala. Harry huffs a bit, kissing Louis' forehead before wrapping his arms around him. “Let them know,” he whispers. 

Louis smiles contentedly at that, before Harry settles them further down into the matters, and pulls the sheets up to cover them, immersing himself in the feeling of having Louis so physically and emotionally close to him. It was perfect, everything was perfect, just as he expected it to be, and he can’t imagine himself any happier than he is right now. He’s just drifting off to sleep when Louis suddenly speaks, his voice low and solemn. “It’s a miracle that we found each other, Harry,” he whispers. Harry almost doesn’t catch it, but he does, and it confuses him. “What?” he asks, his hand slipping to rest on the small of Louis' back. Louis barely lifts his head, just to press a kiss to Harry’s jaw. 

“Ask me some other time,” he replies. 

 

They’re like little bees. They sting Harry’s ears and neck, and buzz in front of his eyes, and when he tries to swat them away, they just return, and with backup. The bees are a metaphor for the rumors being spread around the school about Louis and Harry. They were quiet at first, just a few whispers in a side hallway, and then they became more numerous as they spread to the ears of more and more students. Harry and Louis caught wind of them in the middle of their third week of dating. That’s how long it took, and to be fair, it’s kind of impressive that they managed to stay under the radar for as long as they did, especially considering the fact that they didn’t really try and hide their relationship that much. 

I mean, they aren’t kissing in public or being touchy-feely, but they are certainly spending time in each other’s presence whatever chance they get. They assumed that everyone would just think they were friends, and they expected rumors about that, but these rumors, they were more knowledgable than either expected. And here’s why. 

Rumors are like a disease, they originate with one person. One person talks to another, who talks to another, and that’s how it goes. To squash a rumor you have to find the point of origin, where did it start? Who spoke first? Well, you and I already know this, but do Harry and Louis? No, they don’t. But Harry is smart, a lot smarter than I’ve made clear, and it doesn’t take much for him to figure it out. It started with Zayn. I suppose it could have been Niall, but think about it. Niall is one of Louis' friends, he wouldn’t be the one to spread rumors about him. If anything, he looks at Louis as a sort of god, able to get laid with a simple flirty gaze, it was an enviable quality. Okay, actually, it’s just as likely that Niall could have started the rumor, too. But I’ll clear it up for you. It’s Zayn. Zayn is the one who started it. 

And once it started, it couldn’t be stopped easily. Like a wildfire gone out of control, the entire school knew by the weeks end, including the subjects themselves. They’re like bees, like aforementioned, and no matter how many times Harry tries to swat them away, they return. They make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he walks down the school hallways, the eyes on him burning holes into his skin. He does his best to just ignore the stares and whispers, acting as if they don’t exist, but it’s difficult when they’re directed right at him. He hears his name escape the lips of those he’s never even conversed with, and it bothers him. He hears Louis' name just as much as his own, usually right after his own, and he wonders why they’re so fascinated about it. 

Why do they care so much about who Harry Styles happens to be dating, and the fact that it’s a boy nonetheless? Why is there not anything else that can possibly take up space in their brains? Harry himself doesn’t even think about his sexuality as much as his classmates appear to. And he supposes that that’s what bothers him most. It’s not the talk of him and Louis dating, it’s the fact that Harry is gay. The Harry Styles, enjoys sucking cock? Who would’ve thought? He doesn’t look gay, or sound gay, or act gay, so how can he be? Surely he’s not, surely he’s just messing with Louis, as some sort of joke? I used to have a crush on him, he can’t like boys. Maybe Louis turned him? 

Those are all the things they’re saying. There’s always a tone of disbelief, as if it’s some sort of abomination that Harry is gay. As if he isn’t supposed to be, as if he went down the wrong road and needed to be rescued. They don’t have an issue with Louis or Liam being gay, but him? Oh no, not perfect Harry Styles. He can’t be gay, he just can’t. Those rumors hurt, they truly stung, and Harry doesn’t know quite how to process them. Like I said, the ‘larry’ rumors he can handle, those he expected, but the rumors about his sexuality? Those he couldn’t. He didn’t expect those, he just expected the study body to kind of accept him, like they accepted the other students who had come out while in school, but for some reason, Harry seems to be a special case. 

He feels like an exhibit at a zoo, and even though he keeps his mouth shut and nobody ever directly addresses him, he feels like everyone knows that he’s hearing them. And if that isn’t stopping them from talking about him, he doesn’t know what will. He hasn’t talked to Louis about it yet, choosing to wait and see what happens—not wanting to worry Louis unless he has to. But it doesn’t seem like anything is changing, if anything, it’s getting worse. And it’s making Harry self-conscious, it’s making him not want to be seen with Louis, because if he is, then the questions are suddenly answered. Right now, they’re still in question form, still some doubt that what they’re talking about might not be entirely true. It’s the one reign Harry has control of. He can either confirm or deny the rumors, and while it may seem like he has two options, he really doesn’t. If he denies, it’s kind of the same as adding fuel to the fire. He’s going to have to confirm them, but he isn’t ready. 

He isn’t ready to be that public with Louis. He shouldn’t have been as careless their first two weeks, he should’ve kept everything private, should have been more aware of his surroundings. But he wasn’t, and neither was Louis, and now they’re the center of the gossip at West Monroe High. And the voices are only getting louder. The bees are starting to swarm. 

It’s after school that Harry decides to finally talk to Louis about his concerns. Today was a particularly bad day, as Harry accidentally bumped into Zayn, who smirked and asked him how his relationship with Louis was going, to which Harry promptly burned red and shoved past him. He knows that that was the wrong move, but he was embarrassed and frankly, shocked that Zayn Malik had such malevolence in him. Harry always thought him to be kind and compassionate, but he was wrong. He’s beginning to think he’s had an overall too-positive disposition towards the entire student population at his high school. 

So, that being said, he’s not in good spirits when he leaves his final class, and it doesn’t help when Liam jogs up and falls into step next to him, his eyebrows laced in concern. “Everything alright, Haz?” he asks. Harry turns to look at him, his face drawn, and he shrugs his shoulders, offering up a weak smile. “Peachy,” he replies. He doesn’t see the point in hiding anything from Liam, he’s definitely heard the rumors, and he’s his best friend. He can read Harry like a book, and has proved time and again that he knows more than Harry decides to tell him. Liam stares at Harry for a moment, before looking down at his feet as they walk towards the exits. “I know you and Louis are dating, Harry, so tell me what’s bothering you,” he states simply. Despite it not actually being a surprise, Harry’s reflex reaction is to feel a jolt of guilt at being caught, and he blushes, keeping his gaze carefully trained on the ground as well, refusing to look over at Liam. 

He debates telling Liam what’s bothering him, unsure if he wants Liam’s advice or not, but in the end, he decides he does. What can it hurt? It’s not like Liam doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Harry is pretty sure he’s been through something similar. They weren’t friends when Liam came out, so he can’t be one-hundred-percent, but he can assume that he went through a period of struggle, too. So, he swallows his doubts, and takes a deep breath before answering the question. “It’s the rumors,” he says, and as soon as the words pass his lips, he realizes it’s not entirely true. I mean, it’s not a complete lie, but he doesn’t get very specific. It isn’t the rumors as a whole, it’s the rumors about his sexuality. In that, it’s his sexuality that’s bothering him. But he’s just using the rumors filter as an way to deny to himself that it’s his sexuality that he’s struggling with. It’s not his being gay that’s an issue, it’s the fact that everyone is talking about it. Yep. 

“Those petty, stupid rumors?” Liam clarifies, his gait slowing as they walk outside. Harry squints against the sunlight as he turns his head to look at Liam, who is looking back at him, sympathy in his eyes. Harry nods, shoving his hands into his pockets as the two slowly come to a stop on the sidewalk outside of the school. Liam blinks a few times, before sighing, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun. “They’re just rumors, Haz, and harmless ones at that,” he reassures. “Don’t let them get to you,” Harry groans as the words just kind of hit his chest and roll off. They’re exactly what he expected Liam to say, and they’re the words that he’s been telling himself, so just because he’s hearing them from another person, doesn’t mean they’re going to help him any more. 

“If it were that easy, don’t you think I’d be able to do it?” he says, exasperated. He turns around, running a hand through his hair as he paces a few steps forward. Liam stays where he is, watching as Harry drags his hands down his face, groaning, before turning back around. “Why can’t two people be together without it causing any drama?” he asks, his face conveying a hurt sense of cluelessness. Liam’s expression falters as he frowns, stepping forward. When he speaks, his voice is paternal. “Because it’s high school, and teenagers feed off of anything that’s more interesting than their own lives,” he explains. Harry actually listens to those words, and he sighs, knowing that they’re true. And Liam is right, he shouldn’t let the rumors get to him. It’s only going to be detrimental to him, and give them even more to talk about. 

He hangs his head as he puts a hand over his eyes, exhaling slowly. “It’ll pass, Haz, I promise,” Liam says, his voice closer as he pats Harry’s shoulder comfortingly. “They’ll find something new to talk about next week,” Harry nods into his hand, trying to make Liam’s words reassure him. They do, a little bit, but not completely. Because like I said, it’s not really the rumors. It’s his sexuality. And the fact that he hasn’t fully addressed it yet. He knows he’s gay, of course he knows that, but he hasn’t fully come out to himself, he hasn’t fully let himself understand what it means to be gay, and how to accept that. He hasn’t accepted himself, yet. 

“Harry? Liam?” Harry’s head snaps up as soon as he hears Louis' voice, and for some reason, his cheeks burn red as he locks eyes with his boyfriend. He’s suddenly embarrassed, not wanting to divulge his insecurities, even though he knows he’s supposed to. He just doesn’t want Louis to worry, he doesn’t want him to think that he’s having doubts about them, because he isn’t. He isn’t having doubts about them, he’s having doubts about himself. “Hey Louis,” Liam answers first, waving casually. Louis' eyes dart to look at Liam’s, but he’s clearly more interested in Harry, frowning as he sees the expression on Harry’s face. “What’s going on?” he asks quietly as he approaches the duo, looking back at Liam for an explanation. Liam sighs, reaching back to pat Harry’s shoulder twice. “Harry’s not used to having rumors spread about him,” he says nonchalantly. 

Harry blushes more at that, glaring at Liam for a moment, before softening his gaze as he looks back at Louis. “It’s fine,” he rushes to say, but he knows that Louis doesn’t believe him. Louis peers at him for a moment, before letting out a little laugh, lilting on his feet as his gaze drops to the ground. “I think I can help you there,” he mutters, before lifting his head, revealing a dusty red on his cheeks. Liam laughs, patting Harry’s shoulder once more and hiking his backpack up further. “I leave you in capable hands then,” he says, eyes flitting to look at Louis, who smiles awkwardly. Liam lingers just a second longer, before nodding to himself and walking away. Once he’s out of earshot, Louis moves to stand in front of Harry, surprising Harry by standing up on his tiptoes to be the taller one once again. He gently takes Harry’s face in his hands, lowering his head to press his lips featherlight on Harry’s. His eyes fall shut as his heart thuds against his chest like it does every time Louis kisses him. 

Just as he’s about to add pressure to the kiss, Louis pulls away, going flat-footed again and lifting his eyes to look at at Harry. “It’s not just the rumors, is it?” he asks quietly. Harry’s mouth goes dry as he realizes that Louis is more perceptive than he knew. He has no reason to lie to him, so he tucks his lips in as he nods, a strange feeling of shame coursing through his body at the admission. Louis' eyes reflect back a sadness, and Harry hates himself for causing it. Louis is dealing with own sadness still, the last thing Harry wants is to add his own on top of it. But Louis smiles gently, lifting his hand to caress Harry’s cheek. His fingers are so soft, like always, and Harry finds himself leaning into the touch, but he stops himself, aware that they’re still at risk of being seen. 

Louis appears to arrive at the same frustrating conclusion, and pulls his hand away, smiling softly. He holds out his hand for Harry to take, and Harry can’t help but feel like they’re going on some sort of adventure, and he smiles widely as he takes it. Louis grips his hand tight and they both walk towards Louis' car. Harry climbs in without question, wondering if he’s finally going to get to return to Louis' house. He hasn’t been since their date, and he didn’t go inside then. He’s been waiting for the day, and he supposes that this is it. Louis starts the car, sliding on sunglasses before looking in the mirror as he backs out. Harry watches him as he drives, smiling as he sees the corners of Louis' mouth twitch in an effort to act as if he can’t see him smiling. 

They arrive at Louis' house rather quickly, and Harry doesn’t see any cars in the drive, so he wonders if Louis' parents are home or not. Yes, he still hasn’t met them. Louis turns the car off and they both climb out, Harry taking in the sight of Louis' house in broad daylight. Louis is already halfway to his front door when Harry dashes to catch up with him, blushing again. Louis giggles as Harry approaches him, lifting his chin to peck his cheek before winding an arm around his waist, pulling him to his side. They walk to the front door, and Louis opens it, revealing a beautiful entryway, complete with crystal chandelier. Harry barely has time to look around before a figure emerges from a room off to the side. It’s Louis' sister, Lottie, looking identical still to Louis, minus her long blonde hair. 

“Are mom and dad home?” Louis asks, not removing his arm from Harry’s waist, despite Harry trying to wriggle out of it. He isn’t doing it because he doesn’t like it, he just doesn't think Louis wants to be so PDA in front of his sister, but apparently he doesn’t care. Lottie’s eyes snap to look at Louis, and she shakes her head, before settling her gaze back on Harry, a curious expression on her face. She’s proving difficult to read past that, and so Harry just awkwardly smiles at her. “Okay, well, bye,” Louis says quickly, and then Harry’s being yanked up the stairs, barely getting a chance to wave goodbye to Lottie, who just stares up at him lazily. 

Louis continues to drag Harry behind him, up the gorgeous staircase, until they hit the landing, where Louis then crosses the catwalk hallway that has cutouts on either side looking downstairs. They pass two doors until Louis comes to a stop in front of one of the last ones, and he opens it, the two disappearing inside. As soon as they cross the threshold, Louis drops Harry’s hand and moves to his window where a desk is built in, and drops his backpack next to a pile of textbooks. His room is painted a dark navy, his bed is situated a little off center, with fairy lights strung around the headboard. A keyboard is set up in one corner, which reminds Harry of the fact that Louis likes to sing, and he wonders if he’ll ever actually get to hear him play some time. 

He stands awkwardly in the middle of Louis' room, before Louis turns around, and smiles sympathetically, gesturing for Harry to come closer. Harry immediately shuffles forward, dropping his bag next to Louis', before spinning around and about colliding with him. Louis catches him though, giggling as they stumble back, and Louis ends up sitting on his bed, and Harry standing in front of him, his hands on his shoulders. “Hey sweet boy,” Louis whispers, reaching up to stroke Harry’s curly hair. Harry flushes, smiling as he moves his hands to lock behind Louis' neck. “Hey,” he replies simply. Louis stares up at him for a moment, his eyes strikingly blue, and Harry stares back at him, wondering what he’s going to say. 

When Louis does speak, his voice is guarded, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “I struggled with it too,” he says. His expression hardens into a serious one, and so does Harry’s in accordance, his hands unlocking to rest on the sides of Louis' neck. “I found that just saying the words helped me a lot,” he remarks, his own hands gently stroking the sides of Harry’s torso. Harry bites his lip, the words themselves running through his mind. He doesn’t know what Louis' getting at, but he supposes he’s willing to try it. He takes a shaky breath, before locking eyes with Louis, using his steadiness to relax himself. 

“I’m gay,” he says. Two simple words, and with them, the weight of the world. And it doesn’t work. Instead of feeling a sense of relief, of closure, of acceptance, Harry only feels like the sky is falling, like everything he has known is false, like he can’t decipher reality from fantasy. He feels like he’s in a dream, because he can’t be gay. They were right, all of the rumors were right. He can’t be gay, he can’t, he isn’t supposed to lead this life. He’s supposed to marry some suburban girl, have a few kids, retire at sixty-five, he is not supposed to falling in love with a boy at eighteen. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. 

But as he looks at Louis, as he sees the worry flood his eyes, he knows that he wouldn’t change anything. He would choose Louis over the life he was supposed to have any day, and the conflicting emotions are enough to give him whiplash, and he doesn’t know what to do. He feels moisture in his eyes, and he sees Louis' mouth moving, but he can’t hear anything. He can’t hear anything. 

“Harry? Babe?” Louis cries out, standing up and taking Harry’s face in his hands, but Harry is unresponsive, staring at him but not seeing him. Louis begins to panic, keeping his eyes trained on Harry as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and blindly punches in the number of the one person he can think of who can help him. The one person who knows Harry much better than he does. He puts the phone to his ear, still trying to get a response out of Harry. 

The line picks up after the fifth ring, and Louis does his best to keep his voice as steady as possible. “Liam? I need you to come over,” 

 

“Haz?” Liam says, walking into Louis' room and falling on his knees in front of Harry, who is sitting on the ground, his back against Louis' far wall. He looks up when Liam walks in, and gives him a weak smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He blushes slightly as Liam returns the smile brightly, sitting criss-crossed in front of him. Louis moves to where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trained on Harry, worry decorating his pale face. Harry’s gaze lifts to look at Louis for a moment, before Liam starts speaking, and his attention is pulled. Louis pays careful attention to the words Liam says and the reactions that they pull out of Harry, using the situation as a learning experience. He wants to be able to comfort Harry on his own from now on, but to be able do that, he needs to know which way is best. What does Harry respond well to? He responds well to Louis' kisses, but Louis can’t just kiss him every time he’s sad, they have to be able to talk things through.   
He feels slightly ashamed for not knowing what to do, for having to call Liam, but he knows that he can’t blame himself for not knowing. They’re only just past the three-week mark of dating, it’s not expected for them to know each other so well that they can handle situations as sensitive as these. It is a unique situation, after all, and one that has Louis unable to shake the feeling that he isn’t good enough. Harry is having doubts with his sexuality, despite the fact that he’s made it pretty clear that he prefers boys, and has conveyed that to Louis, with all of his affection, and that’s not even including all the sex. Louis supposes that Harry knows deep down his sexuality, and it’s society that has created these doubts, but it makes him worry a little bit. If Harry isn’t confident, what’s to say that he’ll up and decide that he can’t be gay, and break up with Louis? Louis, who is at this point invested, who is in love with the idea of falling in love, who enjoys this commitment for some strange reason, how would he react if Harry left him? 

He doesn’t want to think about it. He can’t think about it. And so he focuses all of his attention on Liam, who is reaching out and putting his hands on Harry’s knees. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says gently, but firmly. Harry stares at him like he’s a lifeboat and he’s drowning in the ocean. He swallows, before opening his mouth and answering, his voice small and full of shame for some reason. “I’m thinking that I’m a disappointment,” he whispers, and Louis' heart breaks at those words, because he gets it. When he realized he was gay, he felt like he had upset his family, society, everything. Liam scoots closer, his thumbs rubbing circles into Harry’s kneecaps. “A disappointment because you like boys?” he clarifies, and Harry nods, pressing his lips into a tight line. 

Liam smiles a sympathetic smile, shaking his head slightly as he speaks. “That’s not true, you know that right?” he asks. Harry flushes, his eyes gleaming with wetness. “I just feel ashamed,” he whispers. Louis feels a lump form in his own throat as he listens to Harry, and as much as he wants to jump off of his bed and go take Harry in his arms and hold him forever, he knows that he can’t. He has to let Liam do what he has to do to help Harry. “Are you ashamed to be dating Louis?” Liam asks, and Harry about has a heart attack, his eyes widening as he sits up and shakes his head violently. “Of course not!” he cries out, his head snapping to look at Louis, guilt clouding his beautiful green eyes. “I’m not ashamed that you’re my boyfriend, Louis,” he says wildly. Louis scrambles to reassure him, his own eyes widening as he holds up his hands and shakes his head, about to speak when Liam cuts him off. 

“Are you ashamed to be gay?” he says, effectively grabbing Harry’s attention again and shutting Louis up before he can get a word out. Harry gapes, his jaw opening and closing as an expression of self-reproach crosses his face, and he sinks back against the wall, his eyes shimmering again. “I’m just scared,” he breathes, before his face crumples, a tear drips down his cheek. That’s too much for Louis to stand, he can’t just sit idly by, and so he moves off of the bed to fall next to Harry, reaching a hand up to stroke his cheek as his head turns. Harry feels his heart slow a bit at Louis' touch, and he looks to him and to Liam, and in this moment, he can’t be more grateful. His best friend and his boyfriend, both here for him, to make sure he’s okay, he’s so lucky. 

“What are you afraid of, Harry?” Liam asks, and Harry directs his attention back to him, gulping as the thoughts whir in his brain. His mouth goes dry as he tries to think of a way to put said thoughts into words, and he’s momentarily distracted as Louis drops his hand from his cheek and instead takes his hand. He turns to look at him, and is met with a gentle smile and comforting squeeze of his hand. He can’t help but smile back, before it fades, and he looks back at Liam, the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he answers. “That nobody will be there for me,” he says quietly. The instant the words escape his mouth, he feels ashamed again, because he knows that the fear is unfounded. He has two people with him right now who will always be there for him, so why does he feel like he’ll be left lonely? “Harry,” Liam says, swallowing and composing himself before reaching and taking Harry’s other hand in his. Harry locks eyes with him, hanging on to his every word. 

“I promise you, that you always have me, and you will always have Louis, do you understand me?” he asks. Harry feels the tears fall down his cheeks as he nods, tucking his lips in as he tries to keep from breaking down completely. He has the pressure of both Liam and Louis in each hand, and he can feel the love and support wrap around him like a blanket, and while it’s overwhelming, it’s a beautiful feeling. “You are not a disappointment,” Liam continues on. “You are loved, you are needed, you are my best friend, and I will fight for you to the end of my days if that’s what it takes to get you to be able to love yourself as much as I love you,” He finishes then, his own grey eyes sparkling as he searches Harry’s, waiting to hear his response. But Harry doesn’t have a response. How does someone respond to that with words? His heart is racing, his mind is in disarray, and his vision is blurry with his tears. So instead of coming up with a verbal response, he comes up with a physical one. He pulls Liam into a hug, wrapping his arms around his neck and resting his chin on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. 

Liam doesn’t hug him back at first out of surprise, but he soon does, his arms winding around Harry’s torso, and his head turning to rest his cheek on his shoulders, a relieved smile finding his lips. “I love you so much, Li,” Harry murmurs, tightening his grip on his best friend. Liam chuckles, squeezing him back. “I love you too, Haz,” he replies. They hug for a moment longer, before they both pull away, and share a grin, laughing slightly. They sigh for a minute, falling back away from each other, Liam lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes as Harry runs a hand through his hair. He looks over at Louis then, brow crinkling as he takes in the profound expression on Louis' face. His eyes are soft, mouth slightly parted, and his gaze directed at Liam. Liam looks over too, and he’s confused for a moment, before Louis speaks. “Thank you,” he blurts out. He blushes then, darting to look at Harry once, before looking back at Liam, who chuckles, nodding and standing up, patting his thighs awkwardly. “Thank you for calling me, Louis,” he replies. 

He glances at Harry, who smiles as he stands up, Louis following his lead. All three stand there for a moment, before Liam smiles and then waves, turning around and heading toward Louis' door. Louis watches him go for a second, before something appears to dawn on him, and he lunges after Liam, catching his wrist and pulling him around into a hug before he can leave. Liam is thoroughly shocked at the gesture, eyes popping and arms flailing for a second as Louis hugs him. Harry is surprised too, meeting Liam’s wide eyes with a shrug of his shoulders and an amused smile. Liam simpers, before hugging Louis back, patting his back awkwardly. Louis releases him before it can get weird, and he steps back, smiling clumsily. 

Liam hesitates a moment longer, looking back between Louis and Harry, before nodding once again and leaving for good. Louis waits until his bedroom door swings shut, and then turns back to Harry, walking up to him and landing a hand on his arm, rubbing it up comfortingly. Harry smiles sympathetically at Louis, before looping an arm around his waist and pulling him to where their bodies are touching. “I don’t want you to think that I have doubts about wanting to be with you,” he says quietly. He hears Louis' breath catch in his throat, and Louis nods, a little bit too quickly. “I mean it,” he says, his voice a little bit louder and more serious. He uses his thumb to trace Louis' cheekbone, his blue eyes almost glowing, they’re that pretty. Two little galaxies rotating. “I love being your boyfriend, Louis, and I will learn to accept myself over time, and I will not let the rumors bother me anymore, that I can assure you,” Louis hesitates as he takes in Harry’s words, but he nods, his face flooding with an expression of admiration, and Harry can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed at Louis' presence, suddenly so potent. 

“It’s so beautiful to see you grow this much,” he says quietly. Harry laughs at that, his eyes crinkling adorably as he moves his hand to entangle his fingers in Louis' curls. “How do you think I feel? Seeing you change so much since when we first met,” he replies. Louis blushes, rolling his eyes as he rests a hand on the back of Harry’s neck, tugging at the short hair there. “I haven’t changed that much,” he retorts, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. Harry perks up his eyebrows, running his tongue along his lower layer of teeth. Louis sees, and his eyes darken a tad as he responds. “Speaking strictly about sex, I’m just the same as when we first met, if not a bit more adventurous,” he says, his voice shaky as Harry’s hand starts to drag around his hipbones. Harry chuckles, hooding his eyes as he tilts his head, licking his lips again. “And what about me? Have I gotten more adventurous?” he asks, his voice low and sultry. Louis' eyes completely darken at that, his lips lifting up into his trademark smirk as he suddenly grinds his hips against Harry’s, and Harry’s hand moves to grip his ass through his jeans. 

“There’s still a lot we haven’t done yet, babe,” he purrs, leaning forward and licking a stripe up the side of his neck. Harry shudders at the insanely hot gesture, his hand in Louis' hair tightening as he feels the blood rush to his crotch. “Your siblings are home, Louis,” Harry warns as Louis' mouth stays near his neck, suckling the soft skin lightly, not enough to leave a hickey or anything. Louis chuckles, lips moving against Harry’s neck as he answers. “Then you’re just going to have to be quiet, aren’t you?” he says, and then he’s jerking his head away, turning around and pulling Harry to his bed, where he pushes him forward, crawling after him. Harry scrambles back until he hits the headboard, and the fairy lights shake slightly, throwing sparks across the walls. Louis crawls after him, an absolutely lustful look on his face as he’s on his hands and knees in front of Harry. Harry watches with wide eyes as Louis throws back the opposite end of the covers, and dives underneath them. 

He disappears, his body visible through the duvet, and it’s not long before Harry can feel him at his feet, hands trailing up his clothed legs, pushing them slightly apart as he crawls between them. Harry lifts the covers just as Louis pokes his head out, his eyes full of sex and his mouth tipped up in a smirk. “Hi,” Harry says breathlessly, keeping the covers to where they’re draped over Louis' hair. For some reason, the fact that he’s under the covers and the fact that his siblings are home make what they’re doing so much naughtier but also so much hotter. Harry isn’t sure if he’s ever been this turned on, even if it’s just going to be a blowjob. “Hey love,” Louis replies, his voice husky as he quickly undoes Harry’s jeans. Harry swallows as Louis pushes his jeans and underwear down just enough to uncover his pulsing, hardened cock. He takes it in his cold hand, running it loosely up and down his shaft, in a way that only causes Harry more frustration rather than relief. Louis stares at it, eyes dilated, mouth parted in pant, and he licks his lips once. “God, you have such a—,” 

“—Pretty cock, I know, just blow me, Jesus,” Harry interrupts, finishing the statement that he’s heard plenty of times. Louis' eyes flutter up to meet with Harry’s wide in surprise and amusement, a giggle escaping his lips as he tilts his head, lazily running his hand up and down Harry’s cock again. “Why can’t you let me admire how endowed you are? I am a lucky bo—,” He doesn’t get to finish his statement though, because Harry puts his hand flat on top of Louis' head and pushes down hard, basically forcing Louis' mouth around his cock. He releases Louis as soon as he feels his lips wrap around his head, and while Louis splutters a little bit, he continues taking all of Harry, breathing through his nose and pressing his tongue flat against the underside of Harry’s shaft as he goes, slicking it up as quickly as possible. Harry collapses against Louis' headboard then, letting the duvet cover Louis completely, to the point where he can’t see what’s happening. All he can see is the slight movement of the blankets caused by Louis bobbing his head up and down. It makes it all strangely hotter, not knowing what Louis is going to do next, and so Harry just closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feeling of his boyfriends’ hot, wet mouth stimulating his throbbing cock. 

Louis continues to just suck him off for a minute, going at a relatively moderate pace, his tongue gathering the pre-cum gathering at his tip as he approaches it, before dragging it back down, swallowing every time he hit the back of his throat. Harry grips the sheets, reminding himself to keep quiet, that he’s sure Louis' siblings rooms are just right across the hall, and it wouldn’t be difficult for them to overhear anything. He bites down painfully on his bottom lip as Louis suddenly wraps his fingers around Harry’s shaft, squeezing it as he continues to work his mouth on him. He moves to where he’s just lightly suckling the tip, swirling his tongue around the slit and occasionally flicking it underneath. His hand continues to move in a tight fist up and down his erection, making it very difficult for Harry not to express himself vocally. 

He can’t help but groan deep down his chest, as quiet as possible, and he knows that Louis is making him feel as good as possible on purpose, the little shit. As if confirming Harry’s suspicions, he feels Louis' lips leave him, and instead he drags his hot tongue down the side of his cock, all the way to the base and back up, kissing the tip before pulling both his hand and his mouth away, leaving Harry free of any stimulation. He doesn’t want to seem impatient, so he doesn’t lift the blanket or anything, but as the seconds tick by without anything, he can’t help himself, wriggling slightly as he makes to lift up the covers. However, as soon as he’s about to, he feels Louis' hot breath back on his length, and he relaxes back, loosening muscles he didn’t even know he had tensed. Louis flicks his tongue over Harry’s head once, making Harry curious as to what he’s up to, when suddenly it’s made all clear. 

Louis presses a wet finger against Harry’s entrance, circling it, but not pushing it inside. Harry gasps at the sensation, eyes flying open as his chest rises and falls. Louis pulls the finger away, shaking the covers back and making eye contact with Harry, his gaze serious. “Is it okay?” he asks, his steady voice so off for the situation. Harry gapes, confused. “I let you put your cock in me, Louis,” he reminds him. “It’s okay to finger me,” Louis blinks at him, before reaching up and pulling the covers back over him. As he disappears, Harry thinks he hears him murmur something about ‘just trying to be considerate’ but he clearly isn’t that offended because not two seconds later is he pushing his slick finger inside of Harry, not even letting him adjust before pushing a second one in alongside it. 

Harry accidentally lets out a somewhat loud groan, but he claps his hand over his mouth before he can continue it, and quickly looks to the door to see if he can see shadows on the floor. He can’t, but it clearly isn’t that big of a deal to Louis, who just continues his ministrations, driving his fingers into Harry harshly, curling them upward and pressing against his front in a way that makes Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head and for his mind to go hazy with lust. His toes curl into the mattress as Louis fingers him, driving straight into his sweet spot each time. Harry slides one hand under the covers to grip Louis' hair, not because he wants his mouth, but out of affection. He keeps his grip somewhat loose, stroking his soft curls instead of pulling on them. Louis laughs, a gentle hum against Harry’s cock, and Harry whimpers, the lust pooling in his stomach as he begins to lose his train of thought. 

Louis uses his hand that isn’t finger-fucking Harry to wrap around his length, tugging at it once before tapping the head against his outstretched tongue. Harry gasps, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood, and Louis bobs his head a few times just about halfway down his cock before he goes back to tapping the sensitive head against his tongue, a silent signal that he wants Harry to come down his throat. His fingers thrust into him harshly, Louis curling them upwards constantly now, ready for Harry to come for him. “L-Louis,” Harry says quietly, whole body writhing as the pleasure builds in his system. Louis only chuckles, humming as he goes completely down on Harry’s cock, not slowing the pace of his fingers. As soon as Louis swallows around the head of Harry’s cock, the stimulation becomes too much and he comes, violently, the sensation causing his eyes to fly open, his face to contort with pleasure, and his entire body to tremble. 

He digs his heels into the mattress as he clenches around Louis' fingers and shoots down his throat, the ecstasy blinding. Louis takes it all, swallowing all that Harry gives him, riding him through the entirety of the intense orgasm. Harry slumps against the bed as he finally finishes, his heart pounding in his ears and his entire body soaked with sweat. Louis gently removes his fingers along with his mouth, throwing back the covers as he’s licking his lips, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “Mmm,” he hums, winking at Harry, who can only stare up at him in bliss. Louis chuckles, before pushing Harry’s pants back up and moving to straddle his hips, running his hands up and down his chest. “You were very quiet, I’m impressed,” he says. Harry chuckles, running a hand through his sweaty hair. 

“Was that one of the sexual escapades that we had yet to do? Doing it while family members are home? Are we supposed to mark it off of our list?” he teases. Louis chuckles, replacing Harry’s hand in his hair, stroking it affectionately. “Yeah, that was one of them,” he replies. Harry raises his eyebrows, pushing Louis back onto his thighs as he sits up, resting his hands on Louis' hips. “What are the others?” he asks, genuinely curious. Louis' eyes light up in surprise as he snickers, touching Harry’s collarbones. “Well,” he says. “There’s always bondage, BDSM, sixty-nine, threesomes—,” Harry holds up a hand, laughing. “No threesomes,” he says, which makes Louis laugh, nodding in agreement. “No threesomes,” he says, giggly. Harry laughs a bit more with him, before a contemplative look comes across his face, and he taps his chin, tilting his head a bit. 

“BDSM though, that sounds interesting,” he remarks. Louis lifts his eyebrows, letting his hands fall from Harry’s collarbones. “Yeah?” he questions. Harry blushes, before nodding. “I don’t know much about it, but…,” he trails off, blushing even more. Louis chuckles, winding his fingers through Harry’s hair gently. “There’s different variations, but it stands for bondage, discipline, sadism, and masochism,” he explains. “Which are all fancy words that mean someone is the dominant role and someone is the submissive role. The bondage and discipline all depends on the people involved,” He stops then, looking at Harry to see if he’s understanding anything at all. Harry contemplates the words, the images already flashing through his brain, and he can’t help but feel himself smirk. He lifts his eyes to meet with Louis', and he chuckles darkly. “That sounds like fun,” he says. Louis blinks a few times, before smirking too. He brings his hand back around, using his thumb to pull Harry’s lower lip to the side, before letting it snap back into place. “Would you be the submissive role, then?” Harry asks, his grip on Louis' hips tightening. Louis furrows his brow at the assumption, frowning. “Why do you assume that?” he asks. 

Harry pauses a moment, before chuckling, as if it’s obvious or something. He suddenly lifts Louis barely, spinning them around to where Louis is lying on his back and Harry is straddling him, hovering his chest above Louis'. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your daddy kink, Louis,” he purrs, smiling wickedly. Louis doesn’t blush at that, but his eyes do darken as he chuckles, hands running down the sides of Harry’s chest. “What? You’ll finally let me call you daddy?” he inquires. Harry shrugs his shoulders, shuffling down Louis' body. “Maybe,” he says. “First, I wanna see how quiet you can be,” 

 

Harry purses his lips, forcing himself not to say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say anything. Just let them talk, let them speculate, they don’t know what they’re talking about anyway, so just humor yourself with their incorrectness. Except it’s not that simple. Because they’re not wrong. They’re completely right. And the way that they act like they’re right is what is driving Harry up a wall. As if they think he can’t hear, as if they think they’re being so smooth, as if it was really that difficult to deduce. It wasn’t. Especially not now, not that the rumors are more of an annoyance than an actual concern. 

Where there once were bees, now they’re like flies, and Harry wants so badly to just squash them, kill them once and for all. Honestly, it’s been two weeks worth of rumors, how are they still interested? To be fair, Harry should be flattered. That the entire school finds him worth at least two weeks of gossip, it’s impressive he has to admit. He’s managed to stir up quite the drama, the perfect Harry Styles is gay and dating the slut of the school, who would’ve ever thought? How did that happen? What worlds collided and created that abomination? Harry supposes that he should just take the attention—notorious as it may be—and roll with it. Do what Louis does, take it in stride, walk the hallways smirking, walk with confidence, bask in the eyes on him, even if it’s for infamy. 

He decides to just try it, on his way to the cafeteria. He slows down, adjusting his backpack before taking a deep breath and trying to find his inner arrogant asshole. Surprisingly, he finds it easily, and embraces it for the first time, throwing his cares to the wind, pulling his lips up into a smirk, and walking as if he owns the fucking hallways. He feels slightly foolish doing so, as if he looks completely ridiculous, but it seems to be having some sort of effect on those who see him. He makes direct eye contact, and he sees their eyes widen, and their mouths snap shut, and when he smirks, he sees their cheeks pale as they realize they’ve been caught gossiping. He has no doubt that they only pick up the whispers once his back is to them, but he can’t care less. He just likes seeing the mortified expressions on their faces as he strides down the hallway, delegating all those who spoke about him as beneath him. 

He doesn’t know why he just adopted this attitude in the first place, it sure would have saved him a lot of grief, but alas, he came to the conclusion too late. But what is it they say? Better late than never. He’s in his last months of high school, he most likely will never see these kids ever again, so he might as well create his own legacy rather than let the rumors build one for him. He is dating a boy who cares about him, he has the greatest friends in the entire world, and with them by his side, he’s invincible. Fuck the rumors. Fuck them. 

He’s in that state of mind when he reaches the doors to the cafeteria, and just so happens to run into Nick, who is standing idly by, scrolling through his phone. He appears to be waiting for someone, and is oblivious to Harry, who slows his gait as he gets closer. He’s hoping that Nick will lift his head and make eye contact, and Harry could really get some satisfaction out of it, but unfortunately, he can’t having everything, and Nick doesn’t look up, and Harry doesn’t want to stand there like a complete idiot. So as much as it disappoints him, he just brushes past Nick, hoping that he’ll get a glimpse of his back, before walking into the crowded, buzzing cafeteria. 

Almost immediately his arrogance fades away as the amount of people becomes intimidating, and he falls back into his quiet demeanor. His shoulders slump a bit as his eyes fall to the ground, and he walks calmly to the lunch line. He’s a little bit embarrassed now, after the fact, and he hopes that none of the kids start talking about his little bout of pettiness. He selects the salad option, smiling politely as he pays for it, ignoring the stares and whispers around him, or at least trying to. It’s proving very difficult, especially since they aren’t exactly whispers anymore. They’re just outright talking about him, about him and Louis, about his sexuality, as if the buzz of the cafeteria somehow magically mutes their voices. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. 

He presses his lips into a tight line, his knuckles gripping his lunch tray so tightly he can feel the blood pulsing through his fingers. His head snaps around as he suddenly feels like a spotlight is on him, and he can’t stand it. He can’t fucking stand it, what is it going to take to get them to just shut the fuck up for good? An outburst, a meltdown, is that what they want? To see him fall over the edge, to see the pressure get to him, to see him break? How sick is that? Why can’t they just let him be happy with who he is and who he’s with? He’s asked it a thousand times, he’ll ask it a thousand more. Why do they care so fucking much? He’s up to his limit, and he’s about to actually have that breakdown, he’s about to start screaming and throwing things and telling them to just leave him alone, when an idea strikes him. And it is a brilliant idea. 

Like a live wire in his brain, he immediately feels a surge of excitement, and he can’t keep the smirk off of his face as he pictures the reactions already in his head. It’s the perfect solution, a simple act that will answer all questions and put every single rumor to rest. He wonders if he could have just done this from the very beginning, but he knows that it’s probably better that it’s later on, when their relationship is better established, and they don’t have to worry about moving too quickly, or making a statement that big early on when it could go either way. 

He knows that he has a limited window of time to do what he needs to do, because this giddiness and this self-confidence and this frustration won’t last forever, and seeing as his subconscious has since the beginning been against him, he has to beat it. He can’t let it jump in with its stupid mouth and talk him out of doing what he wants to do. And what he wants to do is this. 

He takes a deep breath, mustering up every bit of courage he has before licking his lips once and stomping towards the middle of the cafeteria. He shoves past a few students, turning heads already, and he feels a fiery determination growing in his chest as he approaches the table. He comes to a stop in front of it, and slams his tray down dramatically, and very loudly. It effectively gains the attention of every single person in the cafeteria, including the person it’s nearest to, Louis, who jumps about a mile in the air, hand flying to cover his heart. He looks up in astonishment, his eyes wide and dilated as he sees the determined look on Harry’s face. “Wha—,” he starts to say, but he doesn’t get a chance to finish his statement. 

Because Harry puts both of his hands under Louis' jaw and roughly pulls him up from his seat, and crashes his lips against his, closing his eyes and blocking out everything except the feeling of Louis' soft lips moving with his. He can’t hear anything else, he can’t see anything, he just focuses on Louis, and Louis alone. Louis, who’s arms flail as he first gains his balance and then figures out what do with his hands, ultimately cupping Harry’s face too, pulling him insistently closer as he kisses him back, the pressure of his lips keeping Harry grounded. Harry relaxes exponentially at the feeling of Louis kissing him back, as if his mind was scared after all, scared that Louis would freeze up, not kiss him back, shove him off, reject him in front of all of West Monroe. 

But he didn’t. He isn’t frozen. He’s as warm as he ever is, and he’s standing with Harry, and they’re perfect. They’re unstoppable. They’re, well, they’re in love. 

Harry doesn’t let the kiss turn into anything interesting, pulling away with a gasp, leaning back and locking eyes with Louis. Louis' pupils are blown out, his cheeks flushed red, and his lips plump with the pressure applied to them. He looks surprised, blissful, and very breathtaking. Harry can only laugh softly at the expression, his heart swelling as Louis' face breaks into a smile, and he immediately hugs Harry, cuddling his head against his chest. Harry hugs him back as the warmth envelopes him. He turns his cheek to rest on Louis' shoulder, and he squeezes his eyes shut as they hug. He can still feel he eyes on him, but there’s no more paranoia, no more frustration, and he’s finally at ease. Fucking finally. The silence slowly dissipates as the students start to talk and move about again, now that they’ve processed the kiss and realized that there was no use in gossiping anymore. 

And slowly, Harry begins to not feel like eyes are on him. And so he opens his own, and the first thing he registers is Liam, sitting over at their normal table, with Lou, and they’re both smiling at him, little smiles of support and approval, and Harry smiles back at them as he holds Louis tighter. His eyes move slowly back to the foreground of his vision, and he locks eyes with—surprisingly—Zayn Malik. At first, Harry feels a spark of anger at the sight of the person who started the rumors in the first place, but it quickly disappears as he sees that same look of support and approval that Liam and Lou have. He’s nodding his head slowly, and Harry can only stare lamely back at him, wondering what the hell is going on, when suddenly Niall leans forward, and puts a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. 

Zayn reaches his hand back to rest it on top of Niall’s, and suddenly Harry gets it. He isn’t quite sure he completely gets it, but he understands a bit better now. He’ll perhaps never know all the answers as to why Zayn did what he did, but he realizes that he did it for a reason larger than just malevolence. He supposes that later, he may have to thank him even. He tears his eyes away then, releasing Louis and exhaling a breath he has been holding. “I’m starving,” he says simply, before flashing a grin at Louis and sitting down. Louis moves a bit slower, most likely still contemplating what had just expired, but he sits down too, and smiles, pulling his food back towards him. “You’ve never sat at my table before,” he remarks. Harry pauses, his fork in his hand. He giggles, before shrugging his shoulders and sitting back in his seat. “I’ve also never publicly kissed you before, so I guess there’s a first for everything,” he teases, winking. Louis stares at him for a moment, before shaking his head slightly, chuckling. 

 

“So, was that my one-month anniversary present from you?” Louis asks suddenly as he and Harry are lounging in Harry’s bedroom. Harry is settled between Louis' legs, leaning back against his chest, Louis' arms resting loosely around him. They’re both just chilling, watching Stranger Things on Harry’s laptop, and trying really hard to pay attention and not just fall asleep, despite the superbly comfortable position they’re currently in. Harry lifts his head slightly to peer at Louis, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion. “What?” he asks. Louis lifts his eyebrows, hitting pause on the laptop. “‘What?’” he mocks, raising the pitch of his voice. Harry frowns, turning his head away and pressing play on the show again, ignoring Louis' question out of spite. 

Louis scoffs, before placing his hand over Harry’s eyes. Harry protests immediately, his hand flying up to try and peel Louis' away, but Louis intercepts his hand and pins it against Harry’s own chest. “Let me see!” Harry giggles, not fighting against Louis' hold, just laughing at the cuteness of it all. Louis tries not to laugh, but at the sound of Harry’s, he breaks, and joins him. He removes his hand a few seconds later, and sees Harry’s lashes flutter from the angle he’s at, before he lifts his head back up to look at Louis, a soft smile coating his face. “Is it really our one-month anniversary?” he asks. Louis nods, pushing his hair out of his eyes, leaving it lingering. Harry hesitates a moment, before blushing, and smiling warmly, resting his head against Louis' chest and cuddling into it, humming quietly. He wriggles his arms around Louis and hugs him, snuggling further against him. “Happy anniversary, Louis,” he whispers.

Louis feels pathetic tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he reaches forward and shuts the laptop, moving it off to the side before wrapping his arms around the older boys and squeezing tightly. “Happy anniversary, Harry,” he replies back, pressing his lips to the top of Harry’s head. They stay in that position for a few moments, just enjoying each others presence, before Louis takes a shaky breath. Harry can’t see his face, but he can hear his heart beating, and he hears it speed up suddenly. He doesn’t move, not wanting to make it known that he can detect Louis' sudden anxiety, but he can’t help but wonder what is triggering it. Is it a good anxiety, like an excited anxious, or is it a bad one? He doesn’t Louis' expression, so he has to fill in the blanks himself, but he’s never been good at examining someone’s body language without their face being a factor. 

He keeps listening to Louis' heart, his brow furrowing as it begins to speed up even more, and he can hear a change in his breathing pattern too. It’s subtle for anyone who isn’t pressed up against his chest, but to Harry it’s like Louis is screaming at him that something is wrong, but he doesn’t know if he can call him out on it. He supposes that if Louis wants him to know, he’ll say something, so he just does his best to silently comfort him, tightening his grip around his thin torso and pressing his lips to his neck chastely. He hears Louis sigh a bit, his hands slipping to rest around his waist instead of his upper body, and he traces patterns along the exposed skin from his shirt having ridden up in his twist around to cuddle. Harry’s eyes flutter shut, seeing as the only thing he’s able to see is a blur because of his close proximity, and without his sight, he’s able to hear Louis' heart even more, and it’s like it’s pounding in his ears, and it’s still going way too fast for such a seemingly calm situation. What is he thinking? 

Apparently, Harry is going to get his answer, because he feels himself slowly rise along with Louis' chest as he inhales deeply, and then finally speaks. “I think I have something to tell you,” he says quietly. Harry feels at first a rush of relief that Louis is addressing his sudden anxiety, but it’s quickly replaced with more concern at the tone of Louis' voice. It’s ashamed, and very, very sad, like he would rather do anything than say what he’s going to next. Harry makes to sit up, to look Louis in the eyes and see if it brings him any other answers, but as soon as he makes to move Louis clamps his hands around him and prevents him from moving. “No, please, stay there,” he says. “I won’t be able to say it without crying if you’re staring at me,” he adds, almost inaudible. Those words alone make Harry’s breath catch in his throat, and for time to suddenly freeze, the colors melting off of the walls as every particle of his being tunes into the person he has given his heart to. 

He relaxes back into Louis' chest, and Louis loosens his grip, one hand running the span of Harry’s spin to rest on the back of his head, fingers curling lightly into his hair. He exhales slowly again, swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Harry frowns, trying to send as many positive vibes Louis' way as possible, his mind racing as he tries to figure out what it is he’s about to reveal. It’s clearly something huge, but is it something that Harry should be worried about? Does it involve him? Does it involve their relationship? What secret has Louis been keeping from him, and why is he choosing to tell him now, one their one-month anniversary of being boyfriends? What is the significance. So many questions. So many. 

“Remember how I said it was a miracle that we found each other?” Louis starts, and Harry is instantly transported back to that day, when he had questioned Louis about it, but he had brushed him off, telling him to ‘ask me another time’. He guesses that he’s about to get his answer to that, but in relation to what? Why is Louis bringing it back up? Regardless of his own confusion, he nods, his hands absentmindedly running up and down Louis' back. Louis swallows again, before continuing on, his voice solemn. “And how I said that you made me feel safe?” he questions again. Harry nods again, forcing himself not to jump to conclusions, not to let his mind put together the puzzle when he doesn’t have all the pieces. He feels Louis shift slightly beneath him, but only in a way that brings him closer to Harry, his lips near his forehead now.   
Harry can smell his minty breath as he speaks, and feel the soft brush of his lips every fourth word or so. “I haven’t told anyone this, except for my…my parents,” he says, hesitating on the last part, once again raising another question on his personal life that Harry doesn’t have the answer to. Harry nods in acknowledgement, reaching below and gently taking Louis' hand in his, dragging it up to press his lips against the top of his palm, before cradling it to his chest. Louis' fingers grip Harry’s tightly, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick, and he sounds like he’s holding back tears. “There’s a reason you make me feel safe,” he starts, and it’s the beginning of what Harry can tell is going to be some sort of story. And he doesn’t think it’s going to have a happy ending. A happy story wouldn’t make Louis' heart sound like it’s about to beat itself to death. 

“I had never entered into a sexual, friends-with-benefits-minus-the-friends agreement with somebody before you,” Louis says softly, his voice taking on an almost reminiscent tone as he thinks back to the very beginning of his interaction with Harry. Harry’s train of thought follows Louis' as he traces back their timeline. What a crazy rollercoaster that is. “I had slept around, obviously, but it was never the same boy twice. It was a rule of mine, so that I didn’t get attached, but also so that I didn’t stick around long enough for the, uh, memories to come back,” he pauses for a moment, continuing on before Harry can ask if he’s okay. “It was a one and done deal, we fucked, and we parted ways. It started by freshman year, and it continued on like that. Until you came along,” At the mention of Harry, Louis suddenly pulls him flush against him, upwards and over to where Harry is practically lying on top of him, his head in the dip between his collarbones. Harry doesn’t mind, snuggling in closer and trying to make Louis feel safe. 

“You weren’t meant to turn into a fuck buddy,” Louis keeps going, hands blindly running up and down Harry’s back and in his hair. “You were meant to be a one and done deal too, but after that first time, and the way you made me feel so safe, even though you hated me, it was something that I knew I would want to experience again, because I hadn’t experienced it. And it had been what I was looking for,” his breath hitches in his throat then, and Harry feels a confession coming along. Louis isn’t retelling their backstory for no reason. His own heart thuds rapidly in his chest in anticipation, and apparently Louis can feel it, because he turns his head to rest his cheek on top of Harry’s head. “That’s why I made the deal, because I finally had found someone who could make me feel safe in a sexual situation, rather than vulnerable and just a body to use,” he says, his voice pained. Harry’s jaw clenches at that, as the he remembers how he used to view Louis like that, as just a body. But he doesn’t allow himself time to torture himself over his past treatment of Louis, because that’s in the past, and he’s here now, and Louis is pouring his heart out to him. 

“It was just sex for a time, it really was, but then I obviously started growing attracted to you and your personality, not just the way you could make me feel, and I’m not going to delve into that because you went through it too, so I’ll just skip to what I’m actually trying to tell you,” he laughs a little bit after that, the sound a source of sweet relief in such a tense moment. Harry laughs along too, still not lifting his head, just kissing Louis' collarbone lightly. After the laughter dies away, the tension returns just as strong, and Louis takes yet another shaky breath, except this time, Harry can feel the waves of anxiety rolling off of him. This is clearly a huge deal to Louis, and so he does his best to show him support through his actions, holding him tightly and nuzzling his face into his neck. “I had been searching for someone who could make me feel safe, that’s why I had so much sex. It was all for a purpose, and that purpose was triggered by something,” 

It’s in this moment that time—which has begun to move slightly—freezes again, and this time, all of the color washes away with Louis' revelation. The only thing that exists are his words, and two hearts beating as one. “When I was thirteen,” Louis says, his voice so quiet Harry has to strain to hear it. “I was raped. And ever since then, I’ve felt so dirty, so fucking dirty, and so I thought that by having a lot of sex, by layering boys over me, that maybe I could cover up that feeling of uncleanliness, could cover up how violated I felt. And it didn’t work. I always thought back to when I was raped, for every single boy. Except for you,” he says, and he stops there, letting Harry process the words. But Harry isn’t processing the words, no, he’s processing the emotions tied to them. At the word ‘rape’ he felt his reality fade away to be replaced by a cold, colorless world where the only thing that existed was his anger and his desire to kill whoever hurt Louis, whoever raped him. He can’t think straight, he can’t see anything, the only thing he knows to be real is the feeling of Louis' arms around him, holding onto him. 

His jaw is clenched, his breath leaving him in hisses, and he doesn’t know what to do. How are you supposed to react to the news that your boyfriend was raped at thirteen-years-old and has had to deal with it all on his own? Harry is blinded by his anger and his desire for revenge, and he sits up harshly, breathing heavily, his face a mask of utmost fury. His eyes swivel in his sockets, pupils dilated in rage, and he feels like he’s going crazy until his eyes land on Louis', and suddenly he comes crashing back to reality, and the color rushes back into his eyes, and the anger isn’t the first emotion on his mind. It’s replaced by sadness, by anguish and sympathy directed towards Louis, who stares at Harry with such sad eyes that Harry can almost see directly into Louis' soul, that’s how real the moment is. Everything ceases to exist in this moment, except for him and Louis, and he feels his mask of anger fall away as his face softens. 

Louis' eyes shine with tears, and his lips are tipped up in the saddest smile Harry has ever seen. He moves forward to where he’s sitting back on the heels of his feet, and he lifts his hands to take Harry’s face in them. “Don’t waste your anger, Harry,” he whispers. “Nothing can change the past, so there’s no point chasing after it,” Harry hangs on to his words, pressing his lips into a tight line as he forces the tears back, because he can’t cry. He can’t. He has to be strong for Louis, Louis who just gave him the key to his soul, who just confessed what is clearly his biggest demon to him, he can’t cry in front of him. He swallows his tears, and his anger too, and he takes a deep breath, nodding. Their love lays bare right now, settling in the space between them, like a beautiful stream. Louis peers back at Harry, smiling sadly as he shifts even closer, their knees touching. “I don’t want this to change anything between us, Harry,” he says quietly. 

Harry’s eyes pop at the admission of worry, and he shakes his head, lifting up to remove Louis' hands from his face and intertwine their fingers. “Shh, Louis, nothing will change, of course it won’t,” he reassures. Louis tucks his lips in as he nods, the tears threatening to spill over as he nods, averting his gaze suddenly. “You’re the only person I care about that knows,” he mutters. Harry feels a lump form in his throat as he’s once again drowned with affection for the boy sitting in front of him. Oh, how the tables have turned. They are slowly turning into the greatest love story ever told. Harry lowers his head slightly to look at Louis, putting a finger under his chin and lifting gently so that they make eye contact once again. “Are you okay?” he asks simply, the three words loaded with implications. Louis swallows, a flash of fear crossing his blue irises as he hesitates before answering. 

“When I’m with you,” he finally says, his eyes wide. “And when you’re not with me?” Harry replies quietly, almost dreading hearing the answers. Louis blinks, and that’s when the tears finally spill over, dripping down his pale cheeks, leaving a dark stain behind. “The nights are the worst,” he whispers, his face crumpling and his back slumping as he finally lets his emotions consume him. Harry wastes no time leaning in, gathering Louis in his arms and pressing him against him tightly, squeezing tightly and swaying just slightly. Louis reaches around and grabs fistfuls of Harry’s shirt, weeping softly into his chest. Harry feels an overwhelming sense of protectiveness over Louis in this moment, as if he’s fighting his demons now too. And he will do it. He will fight every single one of Louis' demons if that’s what it takes to make him not afraid anymore. He has the ability to make him safe, and now he has to use it as often as he can. 

Because nobody like Louis should know such sadness. 

“I will never let anyone hurt you,” he says, gently pulling Louis back to look into his eyes. They’re red-rimmed and puffy, but still so mesmerizingly blue, even with the veil of sadness covering them and blocking out their usual brightness. Louis swallows, nodding. “I know you will,” he replies. Harry searches Louis' eyes for any hesitation, before slowly leaning in, keeping his eyes open and trained on Louis as he carefully fits their lips together. Louis' eyes flutter shut at the contact, and he gently kisses Harry back, so Harry takes it as a sign of consent, and adds a little bit more pressure. Not enough for it to grow heated, because this situation doesn’t call for a heated kiss, no. It calls for a soft, sensual, emotional kiss. A teary kiss, a slow kiss, wherein their mouths move together like two dancers, and they separate and reattach, pursing and relaxing, heads tilting left and then tilting right, a kiss that only those in love can pull off. A kiss that makes time stop. That makes time stop for real. 

 

Things are different. Harry knows that he said nothing was going to change, and to be fair, they haven’t changed that much. They still act the same, they interact the same way, they kiss, and they hug, and they laugh, and they enjoy their relationship, but. Harry is scared. He doesn’t want to trigger something in Louis by making a sexual advance on him. He knows rationally that Louis' mind isn’t wired that way, that sex doesn’t trigger anything, but Harry can’t help but feel like he’s suddenly been handed the pin to a very detonable grenade. He tries not to make it too obvious, but after a week of not making an advances, Louis picks up rather quickly that he’s nervous. 

Harry isn’t expecting him to be angry about it, but he is. It’s after school one day, when they’re sitting in the choir room together, just lounging on the chairs and talking about nothing important. They’re actually in the middle of laughter when Louis suddenly breaks it off and his face smoothes into a blank expanse void of amusement. Harry’s laughter cuts off sharply as he sits up, brow furrowing in concern as Louis' eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?” he asks, reaching out a hand to place it on Louis' knee. Louis stares at him a moment longer, before crossing his arms. “You keep looking at me like I’m broken, I’m not,” he states simply. Harry sputters a moment, his eyes widening as he immediately goes to protest the statement, but he snaps his jaw shut before he can get a word out because Louis isn’t exactly wrong. 

Ever since he told Harry about his rape, Harry has been hesitant to even touch him, afraid to hurt him in anyway. He certainly hasn’t initiated sex, because how could he? With that knowledge? He would be too worried the entire time. He realizes that this will turn into an issue the longer he puts it off, and he guesses that it’s already turned into one because here he is dealing with it. He flushes, biting down hard on his bottom lip as he retracts his hand and tucks it under his thigh. “I’m sorry,” he says, deciding that a simple apology will work better than a lengthy explanation. Louis' expression immediately softens at the apology, and he smiles gently, nudging Harry’s foot with his own. “It’s okay, I get it,” he reassures. His face reddens a bit as he looks down, wringing his hands together, as if embarrassed by what he’s going to say next. 

Harry tilts his head slightly in confusion before Louis suddenly stands up, and grabs his things, staring down at Harry. Harry blinks rapidly as tries to keep up with Louis' quick movements, standing up and grabbing his things as well. “Just, don’t be afraid to make a move on me, babe,” Louis says, reaching up to playfully pinch Harry’s cheek. “I’ll gladly reciprocate it,” He winks, before spinning around and giggling, walking forward a few paces before turning around and looking over his shoulder at Harry. Harry hesitates, before chuckling, shaking his head a bit before following after Louis. They exit the choir room with smiles on their faces, and the few students lingering in the halls either don’t pay them any attention, or give them a little smile. 

***

“Are you sleeping any better?” Harry asks once he and Louis are cuddling comfortably—this time in his room. Louis stops scrolling through tumblr, stiffening as he lowers his phone and looks at his hands. Harry peers over at him from where he’s positioned next to him, both leaning against his headboard, legs stretched out in front of either of them, hips touching barely. I guess it’s not quite cuddling, but. Louis sighs quietly, slouching a bit as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth and releases it, repeating the action a few times. Harry feels his entire being flood with concern as he carefully rests his fingers on top of Louis' hands. Louis' head snaps up in response, his eyes wide, the irises fully revealed, so close to Harry’s face that he can see the little veins around the skin of Louis' eyes. And along with the veins, the dark shadows, like purple bruises under them.   
They’re not easily detectable from even a short distance, but Harry knows that the longer Louis goes getting minimal sleep, the darker they’re going to grow, and the more people will be able to see. Harry thumbs one of the lightly, running the digit over the thin skin, Louis' lashes fluttering at the contact. “Why don’t you ever call me?” he asks. Louis scrunches up his face, looking at Harry as if the answer is obvious. Harry stares back dumbfounded, eyebrows raised and eyes widened as he waits for Louis to ultimately cave and give him an answer. He does, a grin breaking across his face as he pushes Harry’s hair out of his eyes, leaving his hand lingering on top of his head. “I don’t want to wake you up, silly boy,” he says, his voice sickeningly sweet. 

Harry groans, rolling his eyes as he pulls back and collapses back against the headboard, shaking his head. “What?” Louis says, adjusting to where he’s sitting on his knees, looking expectantly at Harry. Harry pauses, just staring a Louis for a minute, before bursting into giggles, shaking his head some more. “You don’t have to worry about waking me up, Louis, I’ll always be here to listen to you,” he explains, reaching up a hand to wipe at his eyes before coming down from his laughter and just staring peacefully at Louis. Louis' face is the epitome of shock, his eyes reminding Harry of stars as he blinks, reminding him of twinkles. “Oh, uh, okay then,” he says, before shifting back onto his feet and smacking his lips as he looks around him, unsure of what to do next. 

Harry gazes at him, just admiring his physical form as the moment allows it. He finds himself doing that quite often, just admiring Louis' physical attractiveness. He’s growing, changed so much from three months ago even, his muscles more defined, his jawline chiseled, his cheeks sunken in from the subtle stretch of his face. His hair falls freely in front of his forehead in gorgeous chocolate curls, his cheekbones are highlighted by their own shadows, and everything about Louis is just maturing, slowly but surely. There’s still a lot about him that’s young, however, from his lips to his little button nose, to certain flashes of his eyes. 

Layering the British accent on top of everything, and you have quite literally, the perfect human being. Harry wonders if Louis knows how beautiful he is. He doesn’t tell him that enough, but perhaps he should. Just a little reminder that he’s perfect, and doesn’t need to change anything about himself ever, not for anyone. Harry is actually about to say these things when Louis speaks up, his head jerking upwards and revealing his eyes, sparkling blue and enthralling. “Can we like, fool around or something?” he asks, his tone partly flustered partly frustrated. Harry is a bit taken aback as he’s pulled back into reality, his mind unable to process the words as quickly as Louis would prefer. He gathers up bunches of the bedsheets in his hands as he pouts out his lower lip. “The house is empty for once and it’s been a week, and I know you’re scared you'll trigger me or something, but, you don’t do that,” he babbles. “It’s one of the reasons I was willing to be your boyfriend, because you’re the only one who can make me feel so safe, and worthy, and—,” he trails off then, biting down on his lip as if realizing he’s dragging on. 

Harry’s eyes are wide and surprised, the emotions like a tidal wave inside his mind, and he can really only think of one response, and he isn’t sure if it’s entirely appropriate for the situation, but it’ll at least lighten it up. “Are you saying you’re only dating me for the sex?” he asks, perking up his eyebrows. The corners of his mouth lift up in a ghost of a smile, just enough to signal to Louis that he’s not being entirely serious, just poking fun at his slip-up, but Louis still goes way overboard to try and compensate, eyes about popping out of their sockets as he shoots his hands into the air, waving them in Harry’s face as he shakes his head violently. “No! Of course not!” he cries out. “I mean, that’s part of it, but, there’s so much more to you than just your super extra very pretty cock,” he says, not even realizing how ridiculous he’s sounding as he blushes furiously. Harry chuckles, staring at Louis with intense admiration, but making no move to stop him, interested as to what he’s going to say. 

Louis swallows once, his eyes piercing Harry’s, a little bit wild with energy. “I love your smile, and the way you basically worship Matty Healy, and your eyes, which are almost too green that I don’t believe it, and…,” As Louis continues on listing the things he loves about Harry, Harry simultaneously feels his heart swelling with affection for the younger boy, and also a growing sappiness that threatens make him sick. He’s a romantic, that’s for sure, but one can only be showered in compliments for so long, then they start to drown in them. 

Louis is still going on about Harry as Harry smiles, abruptly leaning forward and catching Louis' lips in a kiss, conclusively cutting him off. His words get lost in Harry’s own lips, and he’s surprised at first, his hands flying to hover next to Harry’s head before finding their places on the sides of his neck, and his eyes are wide, muscles frozen. Harry ignores all these, kissing Louis harder and leaning in further, causing Louis to flail as he grips Harry hard to regain his balance, finally kissing him back as he pushes them back upward. Harry laughs into the kiss, his lips spreading into a smile, creating an open-mouthed kiss as he grips Louis' hips in his hands. Louis responds to the laughter by nipping at Harry’s bottom lip, earning a quiet gasp from the boy. Louis lets out a little ‘hmph’, pushing back again, more forcefully, raising himself up so that he’s taller than Harry, and has better leverage. 

He moves his hands to cup Harry’s face as he tilts it completely back, Harry slouching and Louis straightening out so that he towers over Harry, enough to where he has to bend his head downwards to keep the kiss going. He doesn't stop there though, shuffling forward to where his legs settle on either side of Harry’s legs, and he lowers himself until he’s practically sitting on Harry’s lap, shoulders hunched as he puts his all into the kiss, now just barely an inch above Harry. Harry is perfectly fine with the positioning, letting his hands drift to run up and down Louis' thighs, stopping before things got interesting. 

Louis breaks off the kiss for air, immediately kissing across Harry’s jaw in a sweeping motion, stopping at his chin, before slumping his back to reach his neck, kissing down it as well. Harry gasps above him, his hands moving to grab at Louis' shirt as he catches his breath. Louis' own hands slip up under Harry’s shirt, his fingers exploring every expanse of skin, causing Harry’s eyes to roll back in his head at the feeling of Louis' hands on him. He can already feel himself growing hard beneath Louis, and he’s wondering what exactly they’re going to do when an idea pops into his mind. Or rather, a memory. Doing his best to form his words and not focus too much on the fact that Louis' hands are now working at his jeans, he clears his throat. “L-Louis,” he manages. Louis immediately stops what he’s doing, stilling his hands and lifting his head to lock eyes with Harry. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly. Harry almost just kisses Louis again at the look on his face—blown-out pupils, eyes dark with lust, it’s almost irresistible—but he keeps his self control. 

“Can we try the BDSM thing now?” he asks, his voice timidly. At the words, Louis' eyes immediately darken even more, his lips lifting into an absolutely wicked smirk, his tongue running over his top lip as he drags a finger up Harry’s chest, past his collarbones, over his Adam’s apple, and all the way to his lips, where he stops. “You sure?” he asks, his voice sultry and seductive, malevolent almost. Harry’s heart speeds up as he nods, gulping nervously. “Only if you are,” he whispers. Louis chuckles darkly, pushing a single finger into Harry’s mouth suddenly, sliding it under Harry’s tongue before pulling it back out, bringing it back up to his own mouth, where he sucks on it lightly, looking away casually as he hums quietly. 

Harry watches expectantly, the blood pounding in his ears and gathering in his crotch, along with a bit of nerves. Eventually, almost lazily, Louis brings his eyes back to meet with Harry’s, and he smirks again, chuckling evilly as he removes his finger. “I’m excited,” he says, and then, without warning, he grabs Harry’s shoulders and spins him around, before shoving him onto his back, maintaining his grip as he hovers over him. Harry is shocked, staring up at Louis with wide eyes, watching as he tilts his head from side to side, as if contemplating something. After a few seconds, he nods to himself, having come to some sort of private decision, and before Harry can ask him what it is, he’s cut off. “Rule number one, no talking,” Louis says, his voice loud and harsh, his eyes cold. Harry immediately feels a wave of fear that’s chased with a sense of exhilaration and excitement. He nods obediently, clamping his mouth shut as if to further convey his dedication. 

Louis snickers, using only one arm to support himself as the other trails down to rest over Harry’s bulge, pressing barely. Not enough to provide any pleasure, just frustration. “Rule number two, do not cum until I tell you to, understood?” he says, using the same tone of voice. Harry bites down on his lip, the prospect of having to resist his body’s natural urges both scary but also strangely hot. He nods again, and then his heart speeds back up as Louis chuckles, sitting up and straddling Harry’s hips. He grinds down slowly once, and Harry’s mouth immediately falls open and he lets out a moan. He’s careful not to form any words though, not wanting to break the first rule. “Take off your shirt,” Louis orders, Harry’s eyes opening to reveal an already-shirtless Louis. He tries not to stare at his pale, toned chest for too long, especially when Louis snaps his fingers and raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

Harry hastily pulls off his shirt, about to toss it to the side when Louis speaks again. “Tie it around your eyes,” he says. Harry blushes furiously as he’s taken back to the storage closet from so long ago, where Louis had him blindfolded again. Why he ever thought Louis to be the submissive, he doesn’t know. He can go both ways, that’s true, but seeing him dominant, it’s just so much hotter. Harry ties the shirt around him best he can, rendering his eyes useless as he stares at an expanse of black. His other senses are heightened though, his ears on high alert. He picks up on Louis' gentle laughter, flinching a bit as he suddenly feels a hot wetness in the middle of chest. It’s Louis, kissing down the valley between his abs, taking his sweet time. He runs his hands up and down the sides of Harry’s torso as he makes his way further down. 

He pushes Harry’s legs apart annoyingly, his hands finally going back to undoing Harry’s jeans. He pulls them off, leaving his boxers. His eyes dart up to look at Harry, who has his head lifted to the ceiling, his mouth parted, his hands resting limply at his sides. “Lift your hands over your head and keep them their,” Louis demands, wishing he had handcuffs or something, but alas. Harry obeys like a good submissive, lifting his arms and crossing them behind his head. Louis can see his biceps when his arms are bent like that, but he tears his eyes away, shaking his head slightly as he focuses on the task at hand. He shuffles forward, settling between Harry’s legs, eyeing the obvious bulge beneath the thin white fabric. He blows softly on it, his own cock throbbing at the answering moan he gets from Harry at the simple action. “You’re so hard, Harry, has it been a rough week?” he asks, his hand lightly tracing the outline of his boyfriend’s erection. Harry nods, his hips grinding upward slightly, but not enough to make Louis angry. 

“Yes,” he breathes, which does make Louis angry. However, Harry realizes his mistake as soon as he speaks up, and he blushes furiously, snapping his jaw shut and stilling his hips. Louis removes his hand from his length, tsking his tongue as he shakes his head, resting his head on Harry’s inner thigh, sighing. “You’re not very good, Harry, I’m not sure if you deserve my mouth,” he muses. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he does whine, frowning. Louis chuckles, shifting back into placed and kissing Harry’s cock through the fabric. “Thankfully, I’m in a giving mood,” he continues, pulling the elastic band back, allowing Harry’s cock to spring free. Louis removes the briefs completely, falling back into place between Harry’s legs. 

Harry lets out a pathetic mewl as Louis wraps his fingers around his shaft, not applying any pressure, not even moving his fist up or down. He feels it twitch in his hand, the head leaking so much pre-cum from the lack of sexual stimulation for over a week, and he smirks, letting his own breath tease Harry some more. He sticks two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them harshly and loudly, an obscene popping noise filling the air as he removes them. Instead of doing what he’s sure Harry thinks he intends to do, he uses the two wetted fingers to run along his leaking head, gathering all the pre-cum on the two digits. He brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking them lightly and humming contentedly at the familiar taste. He finally moves his other hand then, up his shaft, squeezing at the top, and then back down, squeezing at the bottom too. Harry is a writhing mess above him, his hips staying surprisingly still though, just a few wriggles every now and then. Louis decides to give him a bit more relief by pressing his tongue along the underside of his length, and dragging it slowly up, all the way up, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. He swirls a pointed tongue over the tip, before pulling his mouth away. 

He supplies Harry with hand movements as he puts two fingers back in his mouth, this time for their intended purpose. He can hear Harry whimper, his knuckles white from the pressure of his clenched fists. Louis giggles, removing his hand from his length to reach over and massage one of Harry’s hands open. “Relax, babe,” he says gently, a quick reprieve from the dominant act he has going on. Harry lets out a sigh, relaxing a bit. He moves his hand to grip Louis', but Louis slides his hand away, not wanting the moment to get too sensual. “Are you already close?” he says, falling back into his former demeanor. “I barely touched you, you little slut,” he purrs. He doesn’t warn Harry before pushing a slick finger inside of him, thrusting it harshly as Harry cries out, his back arching and his hips pushing down against the finger, beautiful moans spilling from his lips. Louis can tell how badly Harry wants to verbalize his feelings, but he’s impressed by his self control. 

He adds a second finger, curling them both upward, and feeling the lust pool in his own stomach at the noises Harry makes in response. He ruts down into the bed by accident, gritting his teeth as a wave of pleasure overcomes him. “Do you like it when my fingers are up your ass?” he hisses. “Answer me!” He’s surprised at his own conviction, and Harry immediately answers, spluttering. “God, y-yes!” he says, turning his face to the side to press his cheek into the pillows. Louis laughs forbiddingly, driving his fingers harder into Harry, straight into his prostate. He eyes Harry’s length, watching in glee as it strains, the head shining with pre-cum. He wraps his lips around the head, which elicits a very loud gasp from Harry, and Louis slows his fingers, knowing that the double-stimulation is probably a bit much, and he doesn’t want Harry to cum yet. He laps up all the pre-cum before removing his lips and sitting up, admiring Harry’s sweat-slicked, heaving body for a moment, before removing his own pants, suddenly eager. 

“Do you like this?” he asks, using the awkward space to his advantage as he grabs the supplies from where he knows Harry keeps them. “Do you like being completely at my discretion? A little toy for me to use?” He turns around to see Harry nodding lamely, his hands back into clenched fists, his cock still pulsing. Louis licks his lips with arousal as he climbs back onto the bed, throwing his legs over Harry and grinding their crotches together, their cocks rubbing up against each other. “Nnnn,” Harry says, which isn’t technically a word, but to Louis, it is. He stops the grinding, sitting up and pushing Harry’s head upward, his hand under his jaw, a look of annoyance on his face. “No talking, understand?” he spits. Harry whimpers, nodding against Louis' hand. Louis grinds his hips down again, clenching his jaw as he pushes Harry’s face further upwards, which really highlights his collarbones. “Do you understand? Answer me!” he demands. Harry gasps for a moment, his hands moving to grip the headboard before he answers. “Yes, daddy!” he cries out. 

Louis' jaw drops at the nickname, and his hand falls away, his mind momentarily distracted. Harry bends his head back into place, apparently not as embarrassed as Louis expected him to be, just gasping quietly, no blush to be detected. Louis raises his eyebrows in approval, before deciding to just go with it. “Good boy,” he says, running his hands down Harry’s chest as he grabs the condom and lube. He quickly puts the condom on, and then slicks up his own length, careful not to give himself too much friction. He’s fully hard, and Harry is prepared, and foreplay is over. He gets himself into position, one hand gripping Harry’s hip, his nails digging in as the other he uses to line his cock up with Harry’s entrance. “Are you ready for me to fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own name?” he suddenly asks, his head barely brushing Harry’s hole. “You can talk,” he adds as an afterthought. Harry nods, biting down on his lip before answering. “Fuck me, daddy,” he says, repeating the nickname. It only fuels the fire in Louis' groin and he groans himself as he pushes into Harry. 

Harry’s chest freezes as he adjusts to Louis inside of him, his muscles already clenching and unclenching around him. This is his second time bottoming, however, so he adjusts rather quickly, Louis able to slide completely inside of him in mere seconds. Once he’s fully immersed, he doesn’t give Harry any more time to adjust, jerking his hips roughly. Harry cries out, his hands flying away from behind his head and towards Louis. Louis, moving rather quickly, catches Harry’s hands before they arrive at their destination, and he falls forward, pinning them against the mattress, suddenly chest to chest with Harry, their faces centimeters apart. “Don’t you dare come, Harry,” he reminds, his hips harshly thrusting into him again. Harry’s face controls into an expression of utmost pleasure, but he nods anyway. Louis fucks him roughly, his entire body being pushed up against the headboard, his head lightly bumping it in time with each thrust. 

Louis relishes in the noises coming out of Harry, his own body turning into nothing more than a vessel fueled by sex as he chases after his own high, getting there relatively fast from his own lack of foreplay. Harry’s velvety warmth is enough to send him over the edge if he let himself completely go, but he doesn’t. He focuses on Harry’s hot gasps of breath, and the way he’s wriggling under Louis' hands, which are still pinning his wrists down. “You’re so needy, Harry, do you know that?” Louis teases, his hips moving faster, driving straight into that bundle of nerves. Harry groans, arching his neck in response. Louis is finding it hard to form words himself as he grows closer, the haze of lust blurring his vision. “Talk to me, Harry,” he says, wanting to hear his voice as he comes. “I’m so close,” Harry says, which distracts Louis from his own orgasm enough to release one of Harry’s hands to rip off the makeshift blindfold. Harry’s eyes flutter open, so dark they don’t even look green, and he locks eyes with Louis, who glares at him. “Do not come, Harry,” he says through gritted teeth. 

Harry’s eyes screw up as he clenches his jaw, dropping his head back down as he nods, a painful expression on his face. Louis—in a moment of sympathy—softens his gaze as he pulls Harry’s jaw back to face him, and he pierces his eyes for a second, before kissing him. He keeps up the relentless thrusts of his hips though, the kiss a surprisingly soft contrast to it. He releases Harry’s wrists and lets him hold onto him, gripping first his shoulders, and then dropping lower to grab at his ass. “Louuuis,” Harry whines into the kiss, to which Louis bites down harshly on Harry’s lip, shaking his head. “Me first,” he says, but his voice is shaky, and not two seconds later, he’s coming, crying out in pleasure against Harry’s open mouth, his eyes squeezed shut, his hips moving so quickly it’s a miracle Harry hasn’t just lost control. Louis spills into the condom, his entire body jerking forward, his head dipping down to rest on Harry’s collarbones. 

He gasps as he comes, his sweaty body sliding against Harry’s. His hands grip at the headboard, nails digging into the wood, before relaxing. He comes down from his high soon after, his chest rising and falling. He stays resting against Harry for a moment, before Harry wriggles under him, his voice strained when he speaks. “Louis, please, please, please,” he begs, and Louis snaps his head up, his eyes narrowing into a glare at Harry’s neediness, but almost instantly his expression changes as he sees that Harry is still resisting the urge to come, his eyes shut tightly and his neck tensed so much Louis can see the tendons sticking out. He picks back up the movement of his hips in response, dragging one hand down to where they’re connected, and wrapping around Harry’s length. “Such a good boy, Harry, are you going to come for daddy now?” he breathes, and he chuckles as Harry nods rapidly, the noises nonstop at this point. 

Louis fucks him roughly, while also getting him off with his hand, and the combined movements plus the fact that Harry has been resisting for so long means that he comes in little to no time, eyes flying open and locking with Louis' before his face crumples with pleasure. “God! Yes, fuck me harder, Louis, I’m a-ah!” he says, his voice breaking off into moans and whimpers as he comes all over his stomach, his entire body writhing beneath Louis, his face the epitome of satisfaction and lust. Louis milks him through it, his eyes dark with a renewed lust despite him having already come, and he licks his lips as he watches Harry experience his. 

Once he relaxes down, Louis runs his fingers over Harry’s stomach, and brings them up to his mouth, licking off the cum and humming at the taste, like always. Harry doesn’t watch this time, too busy catching his breath, staring up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Louis gently slides out Harry, moving to lay on top of his chest, propping himself up on one elbow, pushing Harry’s sweaty hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “Did you like that?” he asks softly. Harry’s eyes move to lock with Louis', and he blushes, before nodding, throwing one hand carelessly around Louis, despite the fact that they’re both hot and sweaty. “Yeah,” he answers. Louis chuckles once, before suddenly resting his head on Harry’s collarbones and hugging him tightly to him. 

“Thank you for making me forget,”

 

 

Waiting for college acceptance letters is hell enough itself, but layering seven final examinations to study for over it is a recipe for actual disaster. Harry has always been a smart kid, able to get by easily with only a few hiccups in the most difficult classes, but for some reason, the final two months of senior year are drowning him. He finds himself with next to no time to spend with Louis, having to dedicate hours to studying for said final exams, and when he’s not studying, he’s with Liam, poring over college websites, trying to figure out when the acceptance would come in, if they’re going to come in. Louis tells Harry that he understands, that of course he understands, but Harry can’t help but feel bad for leaving him lonely so much. 

He hasn’t had a free night in the past three weeks, and he knows that Louis is growing antsy, even if he swears that he’s okay, that he’s getting busy organizing the graduation ceremony and everything that is coming in one short month. Harry is aware that their two-month anniversary is coming up soon, and he makes a mental note to at least be free that night, and take Louis out on a formal date, and try and make up for some lost time. They haven’t fooled around ever since they tried out BDSM, and while that was intense enough to keep them satisfied for a few days, they are two teenage boys, and let’s just say, they’re both running on empty. The brief times they see each other during the school day, they have to force themselves not to ditch class to go do it in the bathrooms. Harry usually wouldn't turn that down, but being so close to graduation, he can’t afford to skip any classes. 

Graduation. That one little glitch in the matrix, that very-near horizon that used to be far away but is now literally weeks away. Harry has applied to colleges scattered all across the country—having sent in the applications way before Louis was even a factor in his life—and he knows that regardless of where he gets accepted, he’s going to have to move away. And the part of him that doesn’t have Louis is willing to do that. The academic, career-oriented part of him is willing to up and move a long distance to receive the best education possible, but the romantic, emotional part of him? It wants to stay here forever, or at least until Louis graduates too, because he can’t imagine leaving him. He doesn’t know where they’re going, or what they plan to do, because they just haven’t talked about it. They haven’t brought it up even once. It’s kind of an unspoken issue, something that they both know exist, but are choosing to ignore until they’re forced to confront it. 

It’s a stressful topic for Harry to think about, which explains why he pushes it so far into the back of his mind, but as he’s pacing around the library—trying to study organic chemistry—he can’t help when his mind drifts to the academically simpler problem. Emotionally complex, but at least it’s not chemistry. He thinks a lot about staying. What if he stayed? Went to an in-state school? He’d be able to stay at home, save money, and be with Louis. But what if he and Louis break-up? As much as he doesn’t want that, it’s a possibility. Louis is only sixteen, his interests are changing on a daily basis. What if he gets bored of Harry and decides he wants someone else? Then Harry is stuck somewhere he doesn’t want to be. For some reason, he thinks that he and Louis won’t break up anytime soon, not after what they’ve shared, but, what have they shared? Sure, Louis confided in Harry about his rape, and Harry learned to accept himself because of Louis, but other than that, what ties do that have that are strong enough to survive a long distance relationship, should Harry decide to move away? 

He tries to imagine long distance. A relationship founded on phone calls, texts, Skypes, is it really desirable? Harry and Louis are both very physically affectionate, kissing and hugging and just touching each other all of the time whether it be purely casual or sexual. They don’t even like texting, preferring face-to-face conversations over electronic ones. Harry is confident that they’d be able to adjust, but does he really want to? And what about temptations, for both him and Louis? If there are hundreds of miles separating them, who’s to say that one of them won’t meet someone new, that is actually physically there, and available? Harry doesn’t want to think about either him or Louis cheating on the other, but it’s a factor, a possibility. Overall, leaving doesn’t sound like a good idea. But neither does staying. So he’s at a stalemate. And so he stops thinking about it. He decides to just enough the last month and then the summer, and think about colleges when he absolutely has to. And he’ll think about it with Louis by his side. Because that’s how being in a relationship works. 

He decides to ask Louis out on that formal date a few days before their anniversary. He’s been feeling particularly bad, feeling like a bad boyfriend, and so he wants to make it up to Louis in every way possible. He knows that he isn’t purposely abandoning Louis, that his excuses are all very valid, but he can give him one night every now and then. He should. And he hasn’t. But better late than never, he supposes. 

He skips study group one day, even though that really only frees up an hour, and then he has to go home and study for his government exam, which is the one he’s least confident in. He uses the hour to steal Louis away from his voice lessons, the ones he takes through the school after school every other day. Harry dashes towards the choir room, his footsteps echoing throughout the empty hallway, and he comes to a stop in front of the door. He’s about to knock politely when he realizes that the door is slightly ajar, and he can hear Louis singing. He’s immediately brought to the forefront of his mind, all of his feelings of being rushed disappearing and his heart swelling as Louis' voice pierces his ears. It’s a voice beautiful enough to stop time, and that’s what it does. It freezes the moment, and Harry stands there, not even able to see Louis, just able to hear him, and he feels the edges of his vision blur as the sounds surround him. 

He’s singing something powerful, with lots of emotion, and it sounds vaguely familiar, but Harry can’t put a name to it. He listens a bit closer, and is able to hear the words ‘love’ and ‘bad’ within the same verse, but the piano swells, and drowns out Louis' voice, which frustrates Harry, because he doesn’t want to hear the accompaniment, he wants to hear his boyfriend sing. However, before the piano can die down again, it cuts off completely, and Harry hears another voice—his voice coach no doubt—and Louis isn’t singing anymore. Harry is jolted back to reality, a quieter reality, and he shakes his head, gathering himself before knocking on the door, holding it open. Thankfully, Louis' head snaps to the left, and he sees Harry, his eyes lighting up, before he hastily asks his voice coach if he can be excused. Once he gets the go ahead, he smiles at Harry, reaching down to grab his things. Harry steps away from the door, looking down and running a hand through his hair before looking back up, suddenly nervous. 

He supposes that Louis will always continue to make him nervous to an extent, though. 

Louis slips out of the choir room, before grinning widely, and lunging at Harry, pulling him into a crushing hug. “Hey,” he says, his chin on his shoulder. Harry giggles, swaying a bit as he hugs Louis back, squeezing him tightly. “Hi,” he replies, tucking his face against Louis' shoulder, letting his eyes flutter shut for a minute as they embrace. Louis is the one to pull away first, and there’s a sense of urgency as he grabs Harry’s face, and pulls his mouth to meet his. Harry is a bit surprised, but kisses Louis back eagerly, once again regaining his balance as he cups Louis' jaw with one hand and grips his hip with the other. The kiss is broken off by Louis as well, who rests his head against Harry’s, breathing heavily. “How much time do you have?” he asks, his voice quiet, and a little bit guarded, as if expecting a negative answer. Harry chuckles, quickly pecking his lips against Louis' again before answering. “I’m skipping study group, so I have like an hour,” he replies. 

Louis lifts his eyebrows, stepping away and taking Harry’s hand. Harry detects a flash of mischief in those blue eyes, before Louis is pulling him down the hall, swinging their intertwined hands. “An entire hour with you, I’m excited,” he says nonchalantly. Or at least, that’s it’s intended to come across as. However, Harry can’t but help but feel extremely guilty, his face paling as he tightens his hold on Louis' hand, looking down at his feet as they walk towards the parking lot. “I’m so sorry, I’ve just been so busy with finals and everything,” he mutters. He lifts his gaze to look at Louis, who looks back at him, a blushing dusting his cheeks as he shakes his head, his eyes guilty as well. “No, Harry, I’m sorry, it’s okay, I understand,” he stutters, biting nervously down on his lip as his eyes search Harry’s. Harry hates this. He hates this situation, he hates how he’s making Louis feel like he’s the bad guy for wanting to spend time with him, he hates how he’s making himself feel like the bad guy for dedicating time to something extremely important. He just wants finals and graduation to be over, and he wants it to be summer, where he can relax. For three months until he has to figure out what he’s doing for college. 

Instead of continuing on the tension, Harry changes the subject, smiling widely as he pushes open the doors, stepping into the cool outdoors. “I’m actually free for all of Friday night,” he says, unable to keep the expression of glee off of his face. Louis raises his eyebrows, the ghost of a smile on the corners of his lips as they walk in the direction of his car. “Why?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. Harry pauses, blinking a few times, before dramatically scoffing and putting his hand over his heart. “Louis Tomlinson, you have not forgotten about our two-month anniversary,” he says, letting his voice be obnoxiously overdramatic. He breaks the act, giggling as he looks back over at Louis, who is gawking at him, his jaw dropped, eyes wide. “Really?!” he exclaims, coming a stop in front of his car. Harry turns to face him completely, taking both of his hands in his as he nods. “Yes, and that’s why on Friday, I’m taking you out on a date,” he says. He watches for a moment as he sees Louis first blush, before a look of admiration spreads across his features, brightening his eyes, and a smile so wide he can see his dimples stretched across his face. “Really?” he breathes, as if he can’t believe it. 

Harry giggles at how adorable Louis looks right now, and he nods, stepping a bit closer. “Yes, and it’s black-tie formal, because you deserve to be treated like royalty for once, especially after putting up with my crazy, fucked up schedule,” he explains, dropping one of Louis' hands only to brush his curls out of his eyes. He sees Louis' mouth open up, most likely to protest, but he silences him with a kiss, his fingers threading through his hair as he drops Louis' other hand to place it on the small of his back, yanking him forward and causing his body to bend back as it’s pressed against Harry’s. Louis doesn’t hesitate to kiss Harry back, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes, his arms resting on Harry’s shoulders. Harry intensifies the kiss, licking along Louis' lower lip, before gently pushing it inside of his mouth. Louis sighs, opening his mouth up more, giving Harry full reign to explore every crook and crevice. 

Harry relishes in the feel of Louis' mouth on his for more than twenty seconds, and he breathes him in, that familiar floral scent, similar to roses, it’s intoxicating. He can’t help put pick up on a desperation from Louis' part, from the way he’s pressing himself against Harry, to the way he’s moved his hands to grip Harry’s hair tightly, to the way he’s suddenly fighting for dominance against Harry’s tongue. Even as they move to the backseat of the car, Louis collapsing on to the seat and Harry crawling to straddle him, Louis refuses to let their mouths detach, firmly clamping his grip on Harry’s face and holding it close. Harry just goes along with it, pushing the concern into the back of his mind, and letting Louis kiss him the way he wants to. While the kiss isn’t exactly a sexual one, more of an emotional, ‘we’ve-been-separated-too-long’ kiss, Harry can’t help but very slightly roll his hips against Louis'. And if he’s being completely honest with himself, what he does next is more for Louis than him. Because he can’t shake that feeling of guilt, and he hopes that this helps make up for his absence a little more. 

He let’s one hand slowly trace down Louis' chest, through the thin fabric of his shirt, resting it lightly on his crotch. There’s a slight bulge, but nothing significant. That is, until Harry slowly presses his hand down against it. Almost immediately he feels Louis' cock harden, and the kiss momentarily stops. “Mmm,” Louis moans, before parting his legs slightly, allowing Harry more room to do as he pleases. Harry smiles into the kiss, chuckling softly as he continues to palm Louis through his jeans. Louis nips at his bottom lip in response, tilting his head to attack Harry’s mouth at a different angle. As they continue to make out, Harry undoes Louis' fly, and slips his hand past the elastic band of his Calvin Kleins, his fingers running down the length of his erection, the warm, soft skin like velvet. 

He continues lightly running his hands up and down Louis' cock, feeling it completely harden under his touch, and enjoying the whimpers of frustration leaving Louis' lips as he tries to keep kissing him. He continues to tease Louis, until Louis finally pulls away, gasping, and locks his hand around Harry’s wrist, forcing him to stop his movements. Harry, confused, looks at Louis, scrunching his eyebrows in concern. Louis' eyes flutter a moment, before he speaks, his voice low. “What are you doing?” he asks, which only confuses Harry more. Is it not obvious? He knits his brows together as he picks up the movements of his hand, wrapping his fingers around Louis' shaft, and squeezing gently. Louis' face contorts in pleasure for a split-second, his eyes darkening even as he brings his expression back to normal. “I’m giving you a hand job, is that okay?” he asks. He runs his hand all the way down to his head, where he dips his thumb in the slit and uses the pre-cum to sicken the skin, making it more pliable in Harry’s expert hand. Louis bites down on his bottom lip, lifting his hips slightly to meet Harry’s strokes, and he exhales loudly. “In my car? In full view of anyone walking by?” he groans, his eyes closing tightly as he arches his back, jerking his hips as much as he can as Harry speeds up his wrist movements. 

Harry chuckles, adjusting his positioning to where his body is hiding the view of his hand, so that anyone passing by will just think they’re making out, unless of course they stick around long enough to really look, but Harry hopes that they have enough decency to do not that. “We’ve done much worse in the backseat of my car, if you’ve forgotten,” he reminds Louis, kissing his forehead once as he flicks his wrist, tugging on Louis' length now, instead of just stroking it. Louis lets out a choked gasp, his hands flying to grab at Harry’s hips, nails digging in. “J-Jesus Christ, I’ve m-missed you,” he manages to say, before he moans and his eyes screw shut again and his neck arches beautifully. Harry suddenly feels a rush of sadness and shame, but quickly shakes his head as he gets Louis off, increasing the speed of his tugs and making extra sure to run his thumb over the sensitive slit at the head and squeeze the base at the bottom, all things that he knows Louis responds well to. 

“Haz, I’m about to c—,” Louis stutters, a loud moan cutting him off. Harry lifts his head, admiring the sheen of sweat coating Louis' forehead. He quickly removes his hand from Louis' crotch, ignoring his slightly whimper of complaint as he shifts down onto the floor of the car, between Louis' legs, wasting no time before putting his mouth around his cock, sucking harshly. Louis gasps, eyes flying open as Harry sucks him off, using his hand to wrap around the part he can’t reach. “Oh, Harry! Just like that, don’t stop!” he cries, his hand grabbing Harry’s hair roughly, holding him down on his length. Harry laughs around Louis' cock, glad that he’s enjoying himself. 

He lets Louis thrust a few more times, before he’s coming, all in Harry’s mouth, the salty taste spreading over his tongue. It’s an off-taste, but not a disgusting one, and he swallows quickly, sucking around the head for all Louis' got, and basking in the noises Louis is making, before lifting his head, and wiping his mouth off. “Mmm,” he says, mocking Louis' usual response when he’s in the position Harry is in. He pulls Louis' pants up himself, and smiles at Louis' blissed-out state, head resting on back of the seat, eyes closed, looking like an angel despite himself. Harry reaches out a hand to trace down Louis' hairline, across his cheekbones, before touching his lips once and pulling away. Louis' eyes flutter open then as he catches his breath, turning to look at Harry. He doesn’t smile, just stares serenely, while Harry does the smiling, tilting his head slightly, before shifting back on Louis' thighs again. 

Louis furrows his brow, and before he can ask Harry what he’s doing, Harry gently lowers his head to rest his ear against Louis' heart. He closes his eyes as he lets the rapid thuds fill his ears, soaking in the rhythm of the boy, letting it vibrate through him. Louis' chest rises and falls as his heart rate slowly returns to normal, and he lets his arms wrap around Harry loosely, one hand resting his cheek. They stay like that for a while, before Harry finally sits up, sighing as he checks his watch. He looks back at Louis, his heart falling as he sees the sad look cast over his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he says, hope in his voice. Louis stares at him a minute, before looking away and nodding. Harry bites his lip, before reaching forward and turning Louis' face to lock eyes with him. “And Friday, I’m all yours, and I’m taking you on that date,” he says. Louis cracks a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and Harry feels himself failing as a boyfriend in this moment. 

He presses his lips into a tight line, before gently pulling Louis towards him, and fitting their lips together like puzzle pieces, a soft, sweet kiss. Louis frowns into it, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Harry’s jacket, and pulling him impossibly closer. Harry feels a sadness wrapping around him as he kisses Louis some more, and he clings to him tighter too, to let him know that this his hurting him too, that he isn’t unaware of how shitty the situation is. They kiss, and eventually, they cry. 

***

Liam is where he always is after school, in the Starbucks across the street, surrounded by his textbooks and his notes, his glasses sliding off of his nose, and his brown hair flattened from the stress of studying. His coffee is cold, but he doesn’t even notice because he’s so busy trying to memorize all elements on the periodic table in three hours. He’s practically signed a lease on the corner table, and it’s there that Louis finds him, and awkwardly walks up to him, holding tightly to his backpack straps as he comes to as stop, eyes briefly scanning the materials laid out and wondering if he’ll ever have to study the same when he’s a senior. 

Liam doesn’t notice him at first, being too involved in his own misgivings, but once Louis awkwardly clears his throat, he snaps his head, blinking a few times before realizing it’s Louis. His eyes narrow for a split-second, before softening, and he raises his eyebrows, sitting back against his seat, crossing his arms. “Louis Tomlinson, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, his voice slightly intimidating. Louis blushes, tucking his lips in before abruptly pulling out a chair and sitting down, dropping his bag next to him. “Hi,” he says, forcing himself to stare at Liam unwaveringly. Liam’s eyes pop at the suddenness of it all, and he sits forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What’s wrong with Harry?” he asks, cutting straight to the point. 

Louis' blush intensifies at the mention of Harry, and he wonders why Liam has this affect on him. Usually, it’s Louis who is making the other person feel intimidated, but not with Liam. And it’s strange, because this is Louis' boyfriend’s best friend, they should be one somewhat friendly terms, but Louis still feels like Liam is holding a grudge against him for what he did to Harry before they started dating. He kind of wishes they could go back to how they were in student council but, he doesn’t think that’ll happen. He can’t say he blames him, he was a horrible person. He still feels like he is, too. That’s why he’s here, after all. Because he feels like he’s being the worst boyfriend ever. Feels like he’s making Harry feel so guilty for leaving, feels like he’s forcing Harry to abandon his studies just to give him a hand job in his car after school. Honestly what kind of selfish person is he? A very selfish one, that’s what. He should be supportive, not moping around because he doesn’t have unlimited access Harry. But he can’t help it, he really can’t. He is drawn to everything about Harry, and he feels so safe around him, and he would rather be with him than anywhere else. But still. He doesn’t want to be that clingy boyfriend. 

“Well, he’s been very busy lately,” Louis starts, a shameful look decorating his features. “And I just, I feel like I’m somehow making him feel bad about it all, and I just…I don’t know what to do, Liam,” He looks at Liam as if he’s a lifeline, desperation evident in his eyes. He doesn’t care how pathetic he’s appearing to Liam, he just wants some advice. Liam gazes back at him calmly, a thoughtful expression on his face. He taps his chin a few times, before leaning back across the table and narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. “Louis, you’re allowed to miss him, that’s only natural,” he says gently, kindly. Louis stares at him as he processes his words, before groaning, dropping his head into his hands. 

“I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, Liam,” he says into his hands, his voice muffled. And it’s true. He has no idea how to be a boyfriend, he has no idea if he and Harry are going to last past graduation, and he has no idea what to do if they don’t last. He’s confused. Mentally, emotionally, he doesn’t know what to feel or think, all he knows is that he wants to fight. For their relationship. Fight for him. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder, a comforting hand, the pressure of friendship, and when he looks up, he sees Liam smiling at him, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Li,” Louis repeats, a whisper this time, hanging his head. Liam smiles a bit of a softer smile, tilting his head as he squeezes Louis' shoulders. 

“You’re just falling in love,” 

 

Harry wasn’t kidding when he said that the date was black-tie formal. He’s pulled out all the stops, booked a reservation for one of the nicest restaurants in town, and has the entire evening planned out. He himself is dressed in slacks and a blazer and a tie, looking fancier than prom night. His hair is carefully styled without looking styled, and he feels rather confident. It’s the first night he’s had free of studying in weeks, and he’s going to take advantage of it, in most the innocent and naughty connotations of the word. He’s having a strange sense of nostalgia from his and Louis' first date, especially as he’s driving to pick him up at his house, wondering what he’ll be wearing and what he’ll act like this second time around. Will he be nervous again, or confident? It’s hard for Harry to tell, as Louis embodies both ends of the spectrum at a relatively frequent, non-patterned basis. 

He pulls up to his house, and adjusts his blazer before taking a deep breath and climbing out of his car. He walks up the little path, and stops at his front door, ignoring the nerves in his stomach. This is his boyfriend, and this is their two-month anniversary dinner, and he has no reason to be nervous. He has nothing to prove. He knocks twice, before he hears some voices on the other side of the door, and then it’s being pulled open, but instead of Louis being behind it, it’s one of his siblings, one that Harry hasn’t met yet. It must be his younger sister, because his other two siblings attend school with Harry, and he’s seen glimpses if not more of them. This sibling is tall, a lot taller than Harry, with darker skin than Louis, but the same eyes. The same eyes, and the same dimples. She’s wearing a goofy smile as she laughs, leaning against the doorframe. 

“You here for Louis?” she asks, wiggling his eyebrows as she continues to smile. Harry immediately flushes, unsure of how to handle the situation, still trying to process seeing another of one of Louis' siblings. His jaw drops as he tries to think of something to say, anything, to fill this now-awkward silence. Thankfully, before Harry can come across as a completely incompetent loser, Sage bounds in, with Louis at her heels, looking mortified. Sage grabs Louis' bother by his shoulders, steering him away from the door, and Harry’s embarrassed expression. “Fiz, quit being a cock and scaring Harry off,” she scolds, hitting him upside the head once. She brushes it off, immediately protesting her words even as she’s being dragged off by her. Harry doesn’t even see Louis at first, too busy watching Lottie and Fiz interact comically, but his attention is quickly diverted as Louis steps outside and shuts the door behind him. 

“Sorry about them,” he mutters. Harry snaps his eyes to look at Louis, and the first thing he registers is the dark crimson blush on his cheeks, which brings a sympathetic smile to his face. He shakes his head as he rubs Louis' arm. “They’re great,” he says, and he means it. Even though he hasn’t really gotten to interact with Louis' family, he can already tell that he’s going to like them, when he finally does get the chance to do so. At least, he feels that way about his siblings. His parents are a different story, seeing as he hasn’t even once laid eyes on them yet. 

“They’re annoying as fuck, but thanks,” Louis mutters some more, before sighing and smiling widely, trying to push past the tense situation. Harry allows him that, returning the smile as he takes in all of Louis. He’s wearing a navy blue suit that highlights his frame and makes him look taller than he actually is, and instead of a tie, he’s gone with a bowtie, and the entire outfit looks very dapper, and kind of makes Harry want to swoon. Louis in a suit is almost as good as Louis without a suit, and he could get very used to this type of look. He rakes his eyes all the way down Louis' body, to his shoes, and then back up, all the way to his eyes, which are already staring at Harry, eyebrows slightly raised. “Are you going to just eye-fuck me, or are we going to go on this date?” he says. Harry’s eyes widen at Louis' language, and he flushes furiously before shaking his head, grabbing Louis' hand and practically dragging him to his car. He hears Louis giggling behind him as he opens the door to the car, and drops his hand to let him climb in. 

He shakes out his hair as he walks back around to the drivers side, annoyed at how easily flustered he’s being tonight. He falls into his seat, taking a moment to gather his bearings, before starting the car and the music, and pulling out onto the street. As they start to pick up speed, Harry can feel Louis' eyes on him, and he glances over for a brief moment, noticing that Louis seems a bit worried. “What?” he asks, but instead of it sounding concerned, it sounds annoyed. He didn’t mean to sound snappy, but thankfully, Louis doesn’t let it offend him, instead just chuckling softly and resting a hand on Harry’s knee, over the console. “Now you’re the nervous one,” he says. 

Harry waits a beat, before letting out a little laugh of relief, nodding as he relaxes back into his seat, the lights of the highway illuminating his face every few seconds. “I don’t know why,” he admits, laughing a bit more. Louis joins him, rubbing his knee as he smiles at Harry. “I tend to make people nervous, so it’s probably just me,” he teases. Harry scoffs at that, rolling his eyes as his eyes dart to meet with Louis' briefly. “That has to be it,” he jokes back, giggling. Louis giggles too, and Harry drops one hand from the wheel to grab Louis', their fingers slotting together as they drive towards their destination. Harry has an idea that Louis doesn’t have any idea where they’re going, and he finds himself growing more and more giddy as they get closer to the venue. He just hopes that Louis doesn’t feel too out of place. He doubts that he will. He’s Louis Tomlinson, after all, he can fit in anywhere, he just has the aura about him. It’s what made Harry so attracted to him in the first place. His confidence. Even if it did turn out to just be a mask. 

They arrive about ten minutes before their scheduled reservation, and Harry is already excited over the look of awe on Louis' face. His eyes scan the length of the building, his jaw dropping lower as he takes it all in, and his head snaps to look over at Harry in shock. “This is the nicest restaurant in all of Oregon,” he says, his eyes wide. Harry giggles, nodding as he undoes his seatbelt. “You’re right, it is,” he says, opening his door and walking around to open Louis'. Louis is still looking at the building in awe as he stands up straight, absentmindedly looping his arm through Harry’s. “You didn’t have to bring me here, babe, any old place would do,” he says. Harry chuckles, pulling Louis to his side to kiss his temple as they walk towards the entrance. “This is for our two-month anniversary, love,” he remarks. 

Louis looks at Harry, raising his eyebrows as he pulls open the heavy maple doors. “That’s not that significant in the long run, Haz,” he states. Harry decides to ignore Louis' double-entendre in that statement, holding his response until after they’re seated. He gives the name, and the two follow the hostess, both trying to contain their laughter at her obvious attempt at flirting with Harry. Harry ends up pinching Louis' side, which only makes Louis shove him, and its with guilty faces that the two face the hostess and slide into the booth, across from each other. She hands them each a menu, and then leaves, leaving Louis and Harry to burst into silent laughter once she’s out of sight. “Shh!” Louis eventually says, and they recover themselves in enough time to be able to give their drink orders with straight faces. 

The place is fancy, with little candles in the center of the table, and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and live piano music coming from the bar. Definitely not a place for two teenage boys, but once they gather themselves, they manage to fit in surprisingly well. Especially Harry, who seems to thrive in this type of classy atmosphere, appearing older than he actually is. He leans across the table a bit, sucking his lower lip between his teeth before speaking. “This is also an apology,” he says. Louis' brow crinkles in confusion as he tilts his head, opening his mouth to ask what Harry means, but Harry speaks before he can get a single question out. 

“I’m so sorry for being so busy, and not giving you the attention you deserve,” he says, his voice genuine. Louis' expression turns guilty as he shakes his head, reaching a hand out to grab Harry’s. “No, Harry, please don’t apologize,” he says, his voice pleading. Harry smiles a soft smile, squeezing Louis' hand as he continues on. “No, I am sorry,” he says. “And I hope that you can forgive me,” Louis frowns at that, shame refracting off of his eyes. Harry can tell that he wants to say something more, but he refrains, snapping mouth shut and just nodding, replacing his frown with a smile and squeezing Harry’s hand back. “Of course I forgive you, Harry,” he says gently. 

 

 

“Have you gotten anything back from your colleges?” Louis asks, as they share a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. It’s actually a miracle they’re able to consume anything more after their meals, but Louis begged and Harry of course gave in. Harry immediately shakes his head, sitting his fork down. “No, not yet,” he says. Louis offers him a supportive smile, propping himself up with his elbow and resting his cheek in his hand, looking rather adorable. “How many applications did you send in?” he asks. “Seven,” Harry answers, a bout of sadness coursing through him at the fact that they’re all for out-of-state colleges. Louis smiles, taking the last bite of cake for himself before replying. “Then I will be expecting seven acceptance laters,” he says, popping the cake into his mouth. 

Harry blushes furiously, shaking his head slightly as he relaxes back against the booth, sighing a little, suddenly very tired. “Some of them are Ivy League, so I highly doubt that, but thank you,” he says quietly. He flicks his eyes back up and is met with Louis' sparkling ones, and they just kind of stare at each other, before Harry exhales loudly, smiling brightly. “I am excited to just know, and be able to start making a decision,” he explains, folding his hands on the tabletop. Louis grins back, pushing the empty dessert plate to the edge of the table to better leans towards Harry. “Me too, it’s all very exciting,” he replies. Harry chuckles, lowering his head to look at the space between his and Louis' hands. He feels a slight wave of melancholiness, but he hope stat it doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks back up. 

He can’t be sure if Louis sees the sadness in his eyes after all and just reflects it back, or if he had that look on before Harry lifted his gaze, but regardless, as their eyes meet, Harry sees his own melancholiness in Louis' expression. It’s fleeting, disappearing quickly as Louis covers it up with a smile, and Harry chooses to just ignore it for now, reaching out and grabbing his hand, pulling him along as he begins to slide out of the booth. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he says, giggling. Louis throws down his napkin, sliding out as well, standing up and taking a minute to smooth out his blazer, before standing on his tiptoes to kiss the top of Harry’s head. “You’re about to be a lot taller than me,” he remarks, winding an arm around Harry's waist as they slowly make their way towards the exit of the restaurant. 

Harry raises his eyebrows, contemplating this for a moment, before slinging an arm around Louis’ shoulders and laughing. “Does that make you sad?” he asks. Both of the boys give the hostesses smiles as they leave, and Louis unconsciously moves closer to Harry as the bitter air surrounds them. Harry responds by tightening his grip around his waist, their gait increasing as they head in the direction of his car, where the promise of warmth awaits them. “No, I actually prefer being the shorter one,” Louis answers, flushing barely as Harry points his keys at his car, watching the headlights flash as it unlocks. Harry giggles, looking over to kiss Louis’ cheek. They sway a little from their path at the action, but Louis doesn’t mind, laughing as he feels Harry's lips on his cheek, catching his footing before they stumble. Louis keeps his forehead pressed to Harry’s temple as he reciprocates the laugh, holding onto Harry’s shoulders tight enough so that he doesn’t lose his balance. “I’ll try to speed up the growing process then, just for you,” he says. 

Louis rolls his eyes as they come to a stop at Harry’s car. Harry makes to walk around and open the passenger door, but Louis stops him, dropping his arm and lifting his other to lock around Harry’s waist, pulling him flush against him, their chests suddenly pressed together. “Oh!” Harry exclaims as Louis smirks, staring at Harry for a moment, before suddenly pecking his lips, just a simple brush before pulling away again. Harry flutters his lashes as he stares back at Louis. “Happy two-month anniversary, Harry,” Louis whispers, an affectionate smile decorating his face. Harry immediately feels his own lips turn up in response, and he squeezes Louis back, locking his own arms around his waist. The two start to sway slightly next to the car, unaware of the cold now, being so close. “Happy anniversary, my sweet Louis,” he whispers, content to just stare into his eyes forever. Said eyes are glimmering like two little planets, settled in a galaxy, waiting to be explored. 

The two continue to just lose themselves in each other’s eyes, swaying to the left and right gently for who knows how long, before Louis' eyes suddenly reflect a flash of sadness, and he releases his hold on Harry’s waist to take his face in his hands, pulling it towards him and letting their lips crash together. Like two stars colliding, it creates an explosion of emotions, and Harry gasps, eyes widening before immediately falling shut, his entire body melting against Louis as he kisses him back. It’s a rather urgent kiss, as if Louis is trying to put something more than just love into it, and it slightly raises some red flags in Harry’s mind, but he pushes them down, pressing his lips insistently back against Louis', letting some of his own desperation leak through. Perhaps its that sadness over graduation seeping through that they haven’t ever addressed. From the way Louis is kissing Harry like there’s a limited amount of kisses left, to the way Harry is holding Louis to him as if he might fly away, it makes sense. They really need to talk this out, but it also makes sense that neither of them want to. 

Why talk about something that could end such a perfect relationship? Why talk about things that will only bring sadness? On the flip side of that, however, is an opportunity for just as much sadness. Not talking about it until they’re forced to, that’ll force them to make irrational decisions and decisions based off of emotions. It’s a complex situation, and none can blame the two for just ignoring it, but eventually, they’re going to have to have that conversation. And they both acknowledge that. And so when they break off for air, and their eyes find each others again, Harry decides to just say what he wants to say. Now or never, right? 

“I don’t want to leave you,” he says quietly. Louis' brow furrows in confusion for a second, before realization dawns on him, and his eyes darken as he frowns, lifting a hand to touch Harry’s cheek with the back of his palm. “I don’t want you to stay because of me,” he replies. Harry feels a lump form in his throat at the selfless words, and he presses his lips into a tight line to keep the tears from forming in the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want us to breakup,” he says, trying to stay as simplistic as possible, not trusting himself to get too complicated. Louis blinks a few times, before letting his fingers trace Harry’s shoulders. “Then we won’t breakup,” he replies, his tone final. Harry isn’t quite sure if this is the end of the conversation forever, but it’s at least making some progress. They’ve both made it known that they don’t want to breakup, but that they also don’t want to hinder the other, so it’s getting them somewhere. It also takes some of the weight off of Harry’s shoulders, knowing that even if he leaves, Louis is willing to adjust to long-distance. 

They stay standing there for a beat longer, before Harry’s face breaks into a smile and he leads Louis around to the passenger side of his car, opening the door. Once they’re both inside and the heat and music is on, Louis pulls out his phone, scrolling through it briefly. Harry watches out of the corner of his eye as he pulls out, noting Louis' strange silence and extended time staring at his screen. Just as he’s about to ask Louis if everything is okay, Louis speaks up, and his voice is quiet, slightly scared, and it sends chills down Harry’s back. “Um, is it okay if I stay over at your place tonight?” he asks. Harry narrows his eyes, wanting badly to look over and see Louis' expression, but recognizing that taking his eyes off the road probably isn’t the best idea in the world. “I mean, it’s okay if I can’t, I totally get it, it’s just—,” 

“Louis, of course you can stay the night, but can I ask why?” Harry interrupts, darting his eyes over for a split-second to make sure Louis isn’t crying or anything. He’s not, but his head is tilted downwards, along with his lips. Harry waits patiently for Louis to answer, speeding just slightly, eager to get back to his house and look Louis in the eyes, to see what’s really hiding beneath the surface. “Um, my parents are home, and I just, I can’t deal with them right now,” he mutters a few minutes later. Harry narrows his eyes yet again at the mention of Louis' mystery parents, but he doesn’t press the issue, he never does. Louis will talk about his parents when he’s ready to. Harry can’t force him to. “Okay, well, you’ll probably have to interact with my siblings too, but my parents are probably asleep, so you won’t have to worry about them,” he explains, trying to let some lightheartedness seep into his tone. 

Louis laughs softly, finally putting his phone away and slumping against the seat, running a hand through his curls. “Thank you,” he whispers. Harry nods, reaching a hand over blindly to take Louis'. They speed off towards Harry’s house, Louis singing along to the music the entire rest of the way.   
When they arrive at Harry’s house, Louis is noticeably distraught, clinging to Harry as they walk through his garage and into the house, immediately entering the laundry room first. Harry opens the door, and the two waste no time weaving through the hallway, into the back of the house, where Harry and his sister’s rooms are. Three of the four doors are shut, including the door to Harry’s bedroom, but one of them is open, and it doesn’t take long after Harry and Louis enter the house for Harry’s sister Gemma to poke her head out. “Harry?” she asks, her voice quiet. Her eyes first fall on Harry, before instantly darting over to Louis, narrowing in apprehension for a second. “Hi Gems,” Harry says, squeezing Louis' hand comfortingly. He sees Gemma staring at Louis for a moment, and rushes to smooth things over, looking over at Louis and noticing his paled demeanor.

“Oh, Gems, this is Louis, my, uh, boyfriend,” Harry stutters, blushing for some reason, even though he has no reason to be embarrassed. It’s only his sister. “Louis, this is my sister, Gemma,” He looks back to Gemma, and then back to Louis, switching between the two of them, until he sees Louis smile softly, lifting his free hand and waving it at Gemma. “Hi,” he says, a little breathless. It’s still so strange seeing Louis this timid, such a difference than his confident alter ego. Harry bites his lip, looking back at Gemma, and sighing a breath of relief when he sees her smiling, walking forward and holding out her hand. “Hi Louis, it’s really nice to finally meet you,” she says, her voice warm and welcoming. 

Harry relaxes when he sees Louis visibly relax and smile, exhaling softly as he shakes Gemma’s hand. “Oh, thanks,” he says, laughing for a moment. There’s a second of awkward silence with all three just kind of standing in the middle of the hallway, before Gemma smiles again and begins to back away, waving a bit. “Well, I’ll see you later, I guess,” she says, before smiling once more and ducking back into her room, shutting her door quietly behind her. Harry looks eagerly over at Louis, who turns to meet his gaze, his eyes bright and exhilarated. “She’s so nice,” he says. Harry giggles, reaching past Louis to open the door to his bedroom, gesturing for Louis to enter. “Yeah, she’s pretty great,” he says, following Louis. He shuts the door behind him, and immediately unbuttons his blazer, shrugging it off as he heads towards his closet. 

Louis lingers in the doorframe, crossing his arms and watching as Harry slowly takes off all the layers. “Do you talk about me to your sister?” he asks. Harry pauses, arm halfway extended to grab a hanger. He raises his eyebrows, lowering his arm and sauntering back up to Louis, stopping about a foot in front of him, hands on his hips. “Why do you ask that?” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. Louis blushes, nudging the carpet with his foot as he answers in a mumble. “She said something about ‘finally meeting me’ and I just, I don’t know,” he trails off. Harry giggles, lifting Louis' chin and giving him a quick kiss. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he says quietly. “And yes, I do talk about you often, but really only to her,” he continues as he goes back into his closet, stripping down completely to his underwear. He can feel Louis' eyes on him as he does so, but he doesn’t try and be bashful and hide anything. 

“Oh,” Louis replies, more of a gasp. Harry chuckles, rolling his eyes in adoration as he pulls on a pair of sweats and grabs another pair, holding them out to Louis. “Here, I doubt you want to cuddle in your suit,” he says. Louis eyes the sweatpants, before taking them, staring at them some more, before throwing them over his shoulder. “I do want to take off my suit, but I don’t think I want to cuddle,” he replies, his eyes darkening and that all-too-familiar smirk coating his face. 

 

They’re in the shower together, the water running over both of their bodies, highlighting their muscles, every single dip and curve they own. They’re not doing anything quite yet, just standing in the stream of hot water, letting it rinse out the shampoo in their hair. Harry stands behind Louis, his arms wound around his waist, his chin resting on his shoulder, cheek pressed to the side of Louis' head, eyes closed against the mist. Their bodies are pressed together, and one roll of the hips would turn the embrace sexual, but for now, they’re content to just stand together. Louis rests his hands loosely on top of Harry’s locked ones, and leans back against him, his head slightly lifted to the water, eyes shut as well. 

The seconds tick by without either of them saying anything, just enjoying each other’s presence, until Harry breaks the silence, but only barely, his voice rising not even above a whisper. “I used to get off to you right here, where we’re standing,” he says. Louis' eyes fly open, his stomach muscles contracting as he laughs loudly, twisting just barely to lock gazes with Harry. “I was expecting something sappy or romantic, but I guess it’s nice to know I’m standing in the area where you masturbated to thoughts of me,” he replies, his voice shaky with giggles. Harry’s face breaks into a smile as he laughs too, squeezing Louis against him tighter, turning his face to press a chaste kiss to his neck instead of vocally responding. 

Louis moans gently at the touch, which only encourages Harry on. He puts more effort into lashing his tongue over the sensitive skin, sucking harshly and leaving his mark on him. Louis doesn’t miss it when Harry’s hands suddenly slip lower, resting now on his groin, millimeters from where things get interesting. He lifts one of his arms to bend it back and rest his hand on the back of Harry’s neck, turning his face against the stream of water, eyes clamped shut as his lips searched for Harry’s. Harry, getting the memo, pulled his mouth away from Louis' neck, and firmly attached his lips to the Australian’s, kissing him passionately. As their tongues dance together, Harry uses Louis' being distracted to let one of his hands drift even lower, slick fingers wrapping around his even slicker length, and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

Louis whimpers into the kiss, momentarily halting his ministrations, before pursing his lips back together and continuing on, eyes squeezed shut as Harry runs his hand in a tight fist over his wet length. Louis' arm falls to his side, fingers circling Harry’s wrist and holding tight, moving with him as he strokes his erection. He finally pulls his head away from the kiss to catch his breath, ducking it to both blink the water out of his eyes and look down to see what’s happening below. He groans loudly when he sees Harry’s hand wrapped around him, tugging on his length, and as the noise exits his mouth, he feels Harry press his chest against his back, and use his other hand to press against Louis' chest, bracing him to his body essentially. “Shh, baby, my sister will hear us,” he whispers against Louis' wet skin. Louis instantly bites down on his bottom lip, swallowing his moans and lifting one hand to support himself against the wall as he bends at the waist, essentially pushing his ass into Harry’s crotch. 

Harry chuckles, adjusting his positioning to better hold Louis, his hand leaving his cock to travel around back, dragging his fingers across Louis' smooth hips before arriving at his tight entrance, circling once in warning. Louis' breath catches in his throat as he inhales deeply, his arm that isn’t supporting him against the wall moving to rest on top of Harry’s, which is gripping around his waist. He spreads his legs a bit to help Harry out, and it takes all of his self-control not to gasp out when he feels a slick finger slide inside of him. Harry doesn’t waste any time before pumping the single digit in and out of Louis' hole, curling it upwards every fourth thrust or so, sliding a second one in alongside it not long after. Despite trying his hardest, eventually Louis can’t help it, little gasps escaping his lips with every thrust of Harry’s fingers. Before long, Harry has stilled his hand completely, and just let Louis move his hips back and forth on them as he pleased. However, Harry is growing desperate for his own source of friction as time passes, and so he removes his fingers without warning once, resulting in Louis pushing back onto nothing but air, and a loud whine to fill the air. 

“Louis!” Harry hisses, pinching his hip as he grabs them, stopping their movements. “Sorry,” Louis pants, letting his head hang as he lifts up his other arm to support himself as well, his legs almost shaking in anticipation for what’s next. Harry grips Louis' hip with his left arm, using his right to give his own cock a few pumps, before lining it up with Louis' entrance, inhaling deeply and biting down on his bottom lip to keep from making any noises as he slowly starts to push inside, the water acting as lubrication. Louis' muscles tense up as he feels Harry breach up, and his eyes water with pleasure as he forces himself not to make any noise whatsoever. He clumsily pushes his wet hair out of his eyes, shaking his head as he twists around to look at Harry, who lifts his eyes at the movement. His eyes are as dark as midnight with lust, his expression absolutely seductive, with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, and his cheekbones highlighted, it was a look at Louis won’t ever forget. 

Harry finishes filling Louis as they’re staring, and he watches as Louis' face crumples with pleasure at being completely full, his jaw dropping just slightly in a silent gasp, before snapping back shut, his lips tucking in in an effort to stay quiet. Harry maintains the eye contact as he locks his knees and grips Louis' hips, sliding out about halfway, before rolling back, filling Louis again. He watches as Louis' eyes first darken, and then roll back into his head, closing not long after that. He turns his head back around then, letting it hang between his shoulders, his arms extended to support himself against the wall, his ass pushing back insistently against Harry, causing him to almost cry out in pleasure. 

As he begins to pick a pace and stick to it, he can’t help but think about how he used to imagine doing just this to Louis, all those weeks ago, and now here he is, doing it, on their two-month anniversary of being boyfriends nonetheless. The thought causes a rush of adoration to course through him as he fucks roughly into Louis, causing his whole body to jerk forward with the force of it. Desperate to feel all of Louis against him, surrounding him, he reaches an arm forward to pull Louis up. Louis let’s Harry lift him up and press him back against his chest, his eyes staying shut as his body his floppy, being pushed upward now with the force of Harry’s thrusts. His mouth falls open and a few whimpers exit, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind as he flattens his hand against Louis' chest, holding him in place. He rests his lips near Louis' ear, slightly kissing beneath it as he continues to jerk up into Louis. 

The water cascades over them as they make love, gifting them with a constant supply of lubrication, allowing their bodies to move languidly together, skin sliding over skin, muscles tensing and relaxing at the same time, breathing matching heartbeats, an overall perfectly choreographed dance. Louis lets one of his hands rest on top of Harry’s, the other lifting back up to cup Harry’s face, holding it flush against his own, cheek-to-cheek, Louis' face turned slightly so that his lips are touching Harry’s cheekbone, his eyes shut tightly to not only block out the water but also out of bliss. While not technically being loud about it, from this proximity, Harry can hear the breathless little pants leaving Louis' lips, along with what sounds like the beginning formations of words, but they’re lost to the water before he can process them. They appear to start with an ‘h’ though, which can really only mean one thing, and so Harry suddenly thrusts a little bit harder up into Louis, earning an audible gasp and a hand pulling at his hair. He begins to feel the lust pool in his own stomach as he continues to drive directly into Louis' prostate. As Louis clenches around his length, Harry feels himself begin to slip over the edge. 

“J-Jesus Christ, you’re going to make me come,” he mutters, his nails digging into Louis' chest as the lust begins to fog his vision. Louis' lips lift into a slight smirk as he laughs, each one it’s own individual gasp. “C-come inside of me, Harry Styles,” he breathes back. Harry groans, his face contorting with pleasure as he feels his high building up inside of him. He pulls Louis flush against him again, moving his chin to where his lips are against his jawline, kissing it lightly. Louis turns his head some more, giving Harry a more accessible angle to fit his lips against Louis'. Like a jigsaw puzzle, they mold together, and Louis kisses Harry back as Harry chases after his high, his hips jerking sporadically into Louis now. As the bombardment of his senses amounts to an overwhelming level, his lips stop moving against Louis', his forehead resting against his as he lets out one long moan, his hold on Louis tightening as he comes, shooting inside of Louis, letting his high crash around him. He hopes that the water covers the sounds he’s making, but in the moment, he can’t care less who hears. 

His body shakes as he finally finishes, slumping a bit against Louis as he catches his breath. “God, you’re amazing,” he says, kissing Louis' shoulder blade. Louis laughs, before pushing his hips back against Harry’s. “Thanks babe,” he says, his voice breathless. Harry quickly realizes what Louis' after, and blinks the water droplets out of his eyes as he begins to move his hips again, hoping he’s not too soft for Louis yet. He doesn’t think so, as the friction still seems to be affecting him somewhat. He reaches around and wraps his fingers around Louis' shaft, smiling when it gets the desired effect out of Louis. “F-fuck me,” he says, his jaw clenching with pleasure as he lets Harry get him off. Harry thrusts into Louis in time with his strokes on his length, and it isn’t long before Louis is coming too, spilling beautiful white streaks onto the tiled floor, where they mix with the water and wash away. Louis leans forward involuntarily, body curling around itself as he comes, his legs shaking. Harry has to support him to keep him from falling, chuckling as Louis allows himself to be dead weight in his arms. 

A few seconds later, Louis finally recovers from his orgasm, and stands up on his own, exhaling loudly and running a hand through his sopping wet hair. Harry chuckles lightly, running his hands up and down Louis' chest once before pecking his cheek. “Shower sex is so efficient, no clean up,” he muses. Louis rolls his eyes, gently moving so that Harry slips out of him. As he does, Harry can’t help but see the trail of white dripping down the inside of his leg, and he immediately flushes, biting his lip. Louis steps back into the water, shivering slightly—as it’s run cold at this point—and what Harry gave him disappears without a single trace. Harry still wears his uncertain expression though, because Louis calls him out on it. “Haz? Love, everything okay?” he asks as he shuts off the water and grabs the towels they had been smart enough to set out. 

Harry shakes the expression off as he accepts the towel, using it first to dry his face and hair before rubbing his body down with it. “Yeah, it’s just,” he hesitates as he wraps the towel around his waist. “I kind of…you know…inside,” he blushes at the last word, despite the fact that he shouldn’t be embarrassed by it at all. Louis stares at him, his blue eyes appearing almost bored before he giggles, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m clean, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he says simply. That only makes Harry blush even more, and he instantly looks down, stepping out of the shower and padding into his closet, Louis following closely behind. “I mean, as long as you’re okay with it, I am too,” he says, grabbing the sweats he had pulled out before and tossing a pair to Louis, who catches them. He raises his eyebrows as he watches Harry pull them on, standing still just outside of his closet, a thoughtful look on his face. “Are you saying you’d go bareback again?” he asks. Harry shrugs his shoulder, holding out his hand for Louis' towel. Louis hands it over, pulling the sweats on and nodding to himself. Harry chuckles at his expression as he hangs up the towels and shuts off the lights, returning back into his bedroom. 

He takes Louis' hand in his own, giving it a squeeze. “Are you surprised?” he asks. Louis' eyes widen as he shakes his head, letting Harry gently guide him towards his bed. “No,” he answers, but his unsteady voice gives away his true thoughts. Harry giggles, climbing into the bed and holding open his arms for Louis. Louis immediately goes into them, letting Harry lay them down and pull the blankets up over them. He wraps his arms around the younger boy, letting him cuddle close, tucking his head beneath his chin and letting his bare chest keep him warm. His damp hair is wet against Harry’s collarbones, but Harry doesn’t mind, breathing in the familiar scent of his own shampoo. “I just like being that close to you,” he whispers. He hears Louis' breath stutter for a minute, before he’s shuffling up a bit, so that they’re face-to-face as they lie on their sides next to each other in the darkness. “I like it too,” he replies, their noses brushing together. Harry stares into the two azure eyes across from him, the eyes that he has found himself drowning in quite often, and he smiles, lifting a hand to stroke Louis' cheekbone once, before carefully kissing him. 

Louis lightly kisses him back, before breaking it off to yawn. Harry gathers him back in his arms, pressing him back against his chest, holding him tightly, the way that he knows makes him feel safe. He closes his eyes, letting himself get comfortable, letting Louis' presence keep him calm and content, letting his heartbeat lull him to sleep. As he’s hovering on that edge between reality and dreamland, Louis speaks up, and he has to pinch himself to make sure he hasn’t accidentally already slipped into unconsciousness without realizing. He pinches himself, and it hurts, and it’s reality. It’s real. What he says is real. 

“I love you,” Louis breathes. 

 

*two weeks later* 

He hasn’t said it back. He realizes that there isn’t a statute of limitations on when he has to say it back, that he’s allowed to take as much time as he wants, that he doesn’t ever have to say it back if he doesn’t want to. But he does want to. He just isn’t sure if it’s the right time. He wants to mean it, and while he certainly feels something extremely strong for Louis, he’s still figuring out what love even is, and he doesn’t want to plan out when he’s going to say it, he just wants it to happen. Because when it just happens, he’ll know it’s for real. He’s worried that it’s bothering Louis more than he’s letting on, but he hasn’t really let on anything at all. He said it once that night, and he’s said it a few other times in the two weeks since then, but always with a smile, and never in a way that made it seem like he was expecting a reply. 

Harry tries to content himself with that, that Louis respects him and his feelings and doesn’t need to hear it back, but he just can’t help but feel inadequate, because Louis deserves to be showered in those three words, all of the time, so why can’t he just get over himself and say them? It’s just three little words. But that’s just it. If he’s still thinking of them as three empty words, then he shouldn’t say them. They need to be powerful, they need to be meaningful, they need to come from the heart, and not from the mind. And he’s getting there. It can’t be long now, now that graduation is two weeks away, and finals are finally over, and all he has to do now is wait for his letters to arrive from his colleges, and then make a decision, and then spend a wonderful summer with Louis. 

It’s still a lot, but at least it’s not chemistry. The last two weeks of school are ridiculously easy, so much so that Louis and Harry skip most of the days to just fool around in their empty houses and go out to lunch and the movies and just make up for lost time. Louis does an excellent job distracting Harry from the impending arrival of either his acceptance or rejection letters, and Harry can’t be more grateful. Senior year is coming to a close, and he tries to exonerate that by spending time not only with Louis, but with his other friends as well, Liam, Lou, and even his old friends. They’re all bound to be heading off in different directions after graduation, and Harry doesn’t know how much he’ll be able to see of them afterwards. It’s interesting, seeing Louis interact with his friends, but it makes him happy how well they accept him and how easily he falls in with them, despite the age difference and his reputation. It makes him happy to see that true side of Louis shine through to more people than just him. 

After surpassing the two-month mark on their relationship, Harry can’t stop thinking about introducing Louis to his parents, as more than just his friend. They’ve seen him a few times, and he is pretty positive they have their suspicions, but they’ve kept quiet and so has he, and he needed that. He needed those spheres to be separate for a while, but now, he wants them to merge. He wants Louis to know his parents, and how amazing they are, and he just wants his family to know. All of his family. And so, as he’s lying in bed one night, he decides to just call Louis, hoping that he isn’t waking him up or anything. He isn’t, picking up on the second ring, his voice bright and curious. “Hey love, everything okay?” he asks, which makes Harry smile in the darkness. “Yeah, what are you doing?” he asks, trying for small talk before dropping the question on him. Louis pauses a moment before answering, a little giggle in his voice, as if he’s slightly embarrassed for some reason. “I’m just writing a song,” he says. Harry’s eyebrows perk up in interest as he rolls over onto his side, letting his phone rest between his ear and his pillow. “Can I hear?” he asks. Louis laughs though the phone, bells even with the gravelly filter, and Harry can just picture him in his room, his eyes crinkled in the corners, his dimples showing. “No, it’s a secret,” he chuckles. 

Harry rolls his eyes, but decides not to tease him into singing for him, rolling back onto his back and sighing, organizing his thoughts for a moment. “I have a question for you,” he starts, his voice careful. Louis waits a beat before answering, his voice soft. “Ask away,” he breathes. Harry laughs, suddenly nervous, gulping. He blinks a few times to get rid of the floating white orbs in his vision, and then asks the question. It’s not like it’s a proposal or anything, but meeting the parents is a pretty big step. “Can I introduce you to my parents?” he asks, thankful that his voice stays steady. His heart thuds in his chest as he waits for Louis' response, his mind immediately racing with every possible answer, jumping to conclusions before it should, and Harry finds himself chewing his bottom lip in anticipation. He hears Louis take a deep breath on the other line, before replying, his voice surprisingly shaky. “Oh, um,” he begins. “I don’t know, Harry, I don’t do very well with parents,” Harry furrows his brow as he sits up, readjusting the phone against his ear. “What do you mean? My parents love you already,” he says, which isn’t a lie. His parents do love him. Then again, what’s not to love about the true Louis? 

Louis laughs nervously, and Harry knows he’s biting his lip through the cables. “They love me as your friend, but if they knew I was your boyfriend, I think their opinion would change,” he says, getting quieter towards the end. Harry tilts his head, pure confusion coursing through him now at Louis' words. “How do you know that?” he says, his voice gentle. “Once they look at me as someone who has feelings for you, they’ll be able to see what I’ve done, what I used to be,” Louis answers, his voice ashamed. Harry feels his face fall as he finally gets what Louis is referencing, and he wishes he were there with Louis right now, to hold him and tell him that he’s wrong, that his parents will not ever judge him, that they will love him even more, and accept him fully. The fact that he’s worried about that makes Harry’s heart ache for him, and his protective instincts over Louis to kick in. 

“Oh no, Louis, my parents are not like that, I promise,” he says, his voice reassuring. “They are so important to me, and you are so important to me, and I promise that once you meet them, you’ll realize what I mean,” He stops, waiting for Louis to process his words and give a reply, once again chewing his bottom lip raw with now nerves rather than anticipation. He can hear Louis' breathing through the phone, and it makes his heart race, his hand holding his phone closer, as if that makes him physically closer to Louis somehow. “And if they don’t like me?” he suddenly whispers, his voice heartbreakingly scared. Harry frowns, slumping with sadness and sympathy for Louis. “If they don’t like you, then I will not make you stay, we’ll leave and we’ll run away together,” he says, completely serious. Thankfully, Louis laughs a bit at that, and it relaxes Harry immensely, so much so that he falls back onto his pillows and lets out a relieved sigh. “Okay, but I’m going to be a nervous wreck the entire time,” he says. Harry chuckles, smiling in sweet adoration. “I’ll be there the entire time, so it’ll all be okay,” he replies softly. 

***

The titular night arrives, and Harry is less afraid of Louis being scared of his parents than he is scared that he might try and steal them away he loves them so much. Anne and Robin are pulling out all of the stops, spending the day preparing a delicious home cooked meal, setting the table, dressing up, doing everything they can to make Louis feel at ease. When Harry broke the news that he was inviting Louis over to dinner and that they needed to make it special, he didn't expect them to go this overboard, but now that they are, it’s heartwarming and also confirming his suspicions that they have known all along that Louis was more than just a friend. However, they’re still playing along, letting Harry have that opportunity to officially introduce him, and Harry can’t be more grateful to them. They really are amazing.

“Louis isn’t vegetarian or anything, is he?” his mother asks from the kitchen as she turns on the oven. Harry chuckles, shaking his head as he checks his reflection in the mirror once, and then checking the time. “No, he’s not,” he replies. He looks up in time to see Anne smiling over at him, stirring whatever is in the pot. “You look very handsome,” she says. Harry blushes at that, rolling his eyes and walking into the living room, where he sits down on the couch and pulls out his phone, scrolling through tumblr as a way to pass the time until Louis arrives. A few minutes pass before he feels someone sit across from him, and he lifts his eyes to see his father. He grins at him, and Robin grins back, crossing his legs and pressing his lips into a tight line before speaking. “I’m proud of you, son,” he says, kind of out of the blue. Harry’s eyes pop as he sits down his phone, and sits up straighter. “Thanks, Robin,” he says, smiling warmly, paternal love seeping into his veins. Robin just smiles and nods for a minute longer, before turning on the television and averting his attention away. Harry kind of just smiles to himself as he settles back into the cushions and picks his phone back up. 

Not two seconds later, there is a knock on the door, and Harry’s heart immediately picks up as he sits up straight, sharing a glance with his father, before getting up to get the door. He hears his father get up too, following a bit behind him, but going into the kitchen to be with his mother instead of following Harry to the door, and Harry silently thanks him, not wanting to overwhelm Louis too much all at once. Harry takes a deep breath, collects himself, and opens the door with an exhilarated smile. Louis is standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand, and an adorably nervous expression on his face. He’s dressed to the nines, looking breathtakingly beautiful, and Harry can’t help but rake his eyes up and down his frame, forgetting momentarily to speak. “Um, hi,” Louis says first, causing Harry’s eyes to dart back up to meet his, his cheeks burning with blush as he smiles wider, laughing a bit and stepping aside. “Hey, come in,” he says. Louis gulps, paling noticeably as he crosses the threshold, his knuckles white around the flowers. 

Harry chuckles, shutting the door and immediately putting his hand on the small of Louis' back, rubbing it in comforting circles. “Relax, babe,” he whispers, not loud enough for his parents to hear. Louis' jaw is clenched as he looks in desperation at Harry, his eyes terrified. Harry can only sympathetically smile, gently guiding Louis into the kitchen, not wanting to be too affectionate in front of his parents. They enter the kitchen, and Anne and Robin both look up from the stove, friendly smiles on their faces. “Hello,” they both say. Harry and Louis stop walking, and Harry smiles, looking over at Louis, and watching as he carefully lifts his lips up into a smile. It’s a timid smile, but it’s genuine, and Harry knows that it’s all going to be okay. “Mom, Robin,” he says, the words on the tip of his tongue. “I guess it’s time you know that Louis is my boyfriend,” Louis' eyes dart to lock with his, a mixture of excitement and anxiousness flashing through his irises, before they both turn back to look at Robin and Anne. 

Harry decides to wind his arm around Louis' waist completely, pulling him slowly against his side, squeezing tight and hoping that it helps calm him a little bit. Both Robin and Anne share a smile, before Anne’s smile widens and she sits down her spoon, walking around the island and coming to a stop in front of Louis. “Hi, Louis, it’s very nice to meet you, again,” she says kindly, with a gentle laugh. Louis blushes furiously, but laughs along, gathering himself and handing her the bouquet of flowers. “Thank you, Mrs. Styles, and these are for you,” he says, his voice quiet but cute. Anne’s eyes pop as she takes the flowers and immediately smells them, grinning brightly as she wraps one arm around Louis and gives him a quick hug. “They’re very pretty, thank you,” she says, releasing him. Louis lets out a little breath of relief and smiles, stealing a glance in Harry’s direction. Harry winks at him in support, and Louis lets out a little giggle at it, turning back just in time to make eye contact with Robin, who puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes, carefully analyzing Louis, but with harmless curiosity. 

“I liked you before, Louis, but now I get why Harry is always so happy around you, and now I like you even more, I think,” he says finally, his face relaxing as he chuckles, reaching forward and patting Louis' shoulder. Louis laughs, but it’s more of a relieved set of gasps, and afterward, the color returns to his face, and he noticeably relaxes into Harry’s touch, letting him walk them up to the bar of the island, looking over the stove. “What are you making, mom?” Harry asks casually, doing his best to keep things moving along, knowing that creating conversation is the best way to do that. Anne purses her lips as she grabs ingredients, chuckling mischievously for some reason. “A secret Grandma Styles pasta recipe,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Oh my god, I love pasta,” Louis says, and then his eyes widen as he blushes, shrinking back a bit in embarrassment. Harry is worried for a split-second before his mom saves the day, smiling widely as she laughs. “Me too, Louis, it is god’s gift to creation in my opinion,” she says lightly, jokingly. Louis giggles, smiling back and standing back up straight. “My mom makes it all of the time,” he says. Anne raises her eyebrows, turning around to open the fridge as she speaks. “What does she make it with?” she asks. 

Louis leans forward a bit, shrugging his shoulders a bit as he answers. “My siblings and I really love pesto, so she’ll make her own homemade pesto, but I have no idea how she makes it,” he laughs at the end. Harry watches as his mother turns back around, eyes wide, and holds up her hand, a jar of pesto in it. “That’s what I was going to put in the pasta! Here,” she holds it out to Louis, her eyes eager. “Put in how much your mom usually puts in,” Louis hesitates, his eyes popping, before he replies, stuttering a bit. “Oh, um, okay!” he says, his face breaking into a smile as he willingly leaves Harry’s side to walk around the island and stand next to Anne, peering into the pot as he accepts the jar of pesto. He undoes the lid, as Anne hands him a spoon. “My mom usually puts in seven scoops,” he says, waiting for approval from Anne before adding it in. Anne nods, stepping to the side to give him room. He carefully adds the stuff, while Anne stirs it in. Harry watches in the interaction in complete awe, surprised by how comfortable Louis got so quickly, and he can’t help but feel such an intense relief at it all. “When did you and your family move here from England?” Robin suddenly asks from the table, drawing everyone’s attention. Harry expects Louis to tense up again, but he answers smoothly, continuing on helping out with making the pasta. 

“When I was twelve, we moved here because of my parent’s divorce,” he answers, sitting the jar of pesto down and putting the lid back on, walking over and putting the dirty spoon in the sink. Harry pulls himself up on one of the stools, watching as Louis walks back around to sit next to him. “Do you miss home a lot?” Robin continues. Harry turns to look at Louis, genuinely interested to hear his answer. Louis contemplates it for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. “Sometimes,” he says. “But I have a lot of reasons to love it here,” His eyes dart to Harry’s for a split-second at that, and he feels his cheeks heat up as he looks away, staring at the countertop, feeling three pairs of eyes on him. Before the silence can get awkward, Anne puts a loaf of french bread in front of him and a knife. “Slice that, Haz, in even slices,” she instructs. “Louis can help me with cutting the peppers,” Harry lifts his head, and immediately accepts the task, pulling the supplies towards him. Louis touches his thigh once in comfort before hopping off the stool and returning to Anne’s side, listening carefully to her directions. 

Dinner goes amazingly well after that, all four of them enjoying the delicious meal, talking aimlessly about all sorts of things, from Louis' childhood, to Harry’s childhood, to hobbies and likes, dislikes and favorite sports, and everything in between. They seem to cover the entire spectrum, and by the time it’s all over, Louis is laughing and talking comfortably with Robin and Anne, and Harry’s worries have all but disappeared. As the night is coming to a close, and Harry is getting ready to wrap things up and walk Louis to his car, Robin suddenly stops him. “I forgot to tell you, something came in the mail for you,” he says, reaching over onto the counter and grabbing a white envelope. Harry feels his heart drop into his stomach as he realizes what it is, and he looks at Louis, his eyes wide with shock and excitement. Louis mirrors his expression, grinning widely, showing all of his teeth. 

“It’s from Princeton,” Robin says, and Harry’s mouth drops as he takes the envelope, turning it around in his hands. He stares at it, at the little Princeton seal, and his heart races rapidly, his blood pounding in his ears. “They’re my top choice,” he whispers, looking up at his parents, and then over at Louis, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes, grinning hard. “Open it,” he says, nudging him with his hip. Harry stares at him, before looking back at his parents, who gesture for him to open it as well, excited looks on their faces as well. Harry’s face spreads into an involuntary smile as well as he turns the envelope back over and rips it open, pulling out the papers. He takes a deep breath, Louis tightens his grip on his shoulders, and he unfolds the papers. He reads the first few lines, before he lets out a cry, snapping his head up, face crumpling with exhilaration. “I’m in!” he says, and the following shouts that ensue are enough to make Harry feel like he’s flying. 

All three people present let out squeals, and run into hug him, arms overlapping and squeezing him tightly, jumping up and down in excitement. Harry can’t contain himself, his heart fluttering away and his blood like fire in his veins as the relief and subsequent ecstasy at being accepted into his top school crash over him. He can’t even think straight, his mind is so in bliss and the excitement is that overwhelming, and so he just laughs and cries happy tears and lets himself be hugged by those most important in his life. “I’m so proud of you,” Anne cries, pushing through Robin and Louis to properly hug Harry, squeezing him so tightly it’s difficult for him to breathe. He laughs, hugging her back, shutting his eyes shut tightly. He hugs his father next, who tells him that he isn’t actually surprised, that of course he’d get into Princeton, which makes Harry laugh some more.

Finally, Harry turns to Louis, who is smiling and staring at him like he’s a god, pure love and pride in his eyes, and Harry can’t help but feel the most exhilaration at seeing Louis' reaction. He holds open his arms, and Harry goes straight into them, giggling as he feels the slender arms wrap around him, burying his face in his neck as he hugs him. “I’m so proud of you,” Louis whispers, letting the two of them sway a bit. Harry chuckles, squeezing him tighter as he releases him, not wanting the hug to last too long what with his parents still being in the room. “Thank you, all of you, I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, meaning every word. His parents smile at him lovingly, both giving him another hug before things finally settle down enough for Louis to say his goodbyes, and Harry to lead him outside. It’s a warm goodbye, with hugs and promises to return, and when the front door shuts behind him, Louis lets out a large sigh of relief as he spins around and faces Harry. 

“See? Not that bad, huh?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows. Louis rolls his eyes, laughing before nodding in agreement. “That was amazing, thank you for inviting me,” he says. Harry smiles gently, lifting a hand to touch Louis' cheek. Louis' lashes flutter, before he lets out a gasp, as if remembering something. Suddenly, he reaches forward and takes Harry’s face in his hands, pulling him towards him. He kisses him hard, their lips crashing together at the speed of light, Harry barely having time to reciprocate it, before Louis is pulling away, gasping again. “That’s for getting into fucking Princeton,” he says, giggling. Harry blinks a few times, before beaming, pulling Louis back towards him and lacing their lips together again, softer and slower this time. Louis moans quietly into it, his hand threading up through Harry’s hair. Harry breaks it off before it gets too heated, and begins to walk Louis to his car, curling his arm around his waist and holding him against his side as they walk together. 

“I guess it’s my turn to meet your parents now, isn’t it?” Harry says with a chuckle. Louis chuckles too, but it doesn't sound genuine, and Harry is instantly afraid that he made a mistake referencing Louis' parents, but before he can take it back, Louis exhales loudly and replaces his distraught expression with a content one, smiling taking both of Harry’s hands in his own. “I had a great time tonight,” he whispers. Harry, as much as he wants to make sure Louis is okay, just goes along with it, smiling and stepping closer. “I’m really glad you did,” he replies. Louis' eyes search Harry’s a moment longer as he smiles gently, before he stands on tiptoes to be the taller one, and leans down to kiss Harry for a third time. “I love you,” he says against his lips, before pressing them firmly against Harry’s again, letting his tongue run along his bottom lip once, before pulling away, and locking eyes with Harry once again. They stare at each other for only a second, before Louis drops his hands and turns around to climb into his car. 

Harry watches him as he starts his car, rolling down the window to look at him one more time. “I’ll text you when I’m home, okay?” Louis says, raising his eyebrows. Harry finds himself distracted as he nods, his mind racing at a million miles an hour, his emotions running high, his heart feeling like it’s about to fly away from beating so quickly, and it’s in this moment that he realizes he wants to say it. Say those three words. They’re sitting on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to roll off, almost burning with anticipation. He sees Louis' taillights light up and it brings him back to his senses, and he jolts forward, raising a hand to gain Louis' attention. “Lou, wait!” he cries out, almost stepping in front of his car to keep him from driving off. Louis immediately stops the slight movement of the car, rolling the window back down and staring concernedly up at Harry. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

Harry almost forgets how to speak as he looks at Louis, but he manages to remember the three life changing words, and while they make his mouth dry and time stand still, he says them, and Louis hears them. “I love you,” he says, and the rush of ecstasy that he feels at finally saying them, it’s enough to give him wings, and layered on top of all the other good news he received tonight, he literally feels as if he’s on top of the world and nothing can bring him down. He watches as Louis' pupils dilate, and his eyes are coated with a sheen of moisture, his lips curving upward into an affectionate, lovesick smile. He puts the car in park, and opens the door, climbing back out and wasting no time before locking his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him close to where their foreheads are resting against each others. “Harry,” he whispers. “You don’t have to say I love you, to say I love you,” 

 

q

*graduation day* 

He’s imagined this moment for a while, really ever since freshman year, and now it’s here. He’s standing in front of the mirror in the bathrooms, just outside of the arena, where the buzz of people is leaking through the thin walls. Families, friends, all of Harry’s loved ones, here to see him walk across a stage and accept a piece of paper twelve years in the making, it was physically insignificant but a rite of passage nonetheless. A chapter in his life that is coming to a close, with only big things ahead of him. A career at Princeton, and then an entire life after that. The thought makes him smile at his reflection, so much that he can see his dimples. 

He reaches up to swipe his hair to the side and adjust his cap, before taking a deep breath and walking out, joining the other seniors in the holding room, before they walk out and the ceremonies start. Harry is aware that it’s going to be a lot of speeches and time spent politely listening, but he’s excited for afterward, when he goes to his family, and he goes to Louis, and then they run off to all the graduation parties being thrown by various friends. It’s going to be a very eventful day, and Harry is giddy with excitement. He weaves carefully through all of his soon to be ex-classmates, before picking out Liam and Lou, standing off to the side and taking silly selfies as they laugh together. 

Harry feels his lips spread into a grin as he comes to a stop in front of them. They see him, and immediately lower their phones, letting out squeals and pulling him into a hug, all three of them squished together. “Today is the day, y’all!” Liam cries, jumping up and down a bit. Harry laughs, a hand on either of their shoulders as he beams, nodding. “I can’t wait for what’s next,” he says. “Lou and UCLA, Liam and UCONN, it’s going to be amazing,” Lou lets out a little ‘aw’ before pulling Harry into a hug again, while Liam pats his back, raising his eyebrows. “And you and fucking Princeton! My little Harry is going Ivy,” he remarks. Harry flushes, rolling his eyes before releasing Lou and putting his hands in his pockets as he sways slightly. 

“Is Louis here?” Liam asks gently, a knowing little gleam in his eyes. Harry instantly smiles at the mention of Louis, his face popping up in his mind. “Yeah, he’s here for his sister Fizzy,” he informs. Lou giggles, playfully nudging him in the shoulder, tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “And you, stupid,” she says. Harry blushes, shrugging his shoulders as he averts his gaze downward. Liam laughs loudly, which causes Harry to chortle a bit, lifting his head back up and looking at both of his best friends in the entire world with pure love in his eyes. He’s going to miss them so much, but there’s still all summer. Three whole months with no obligations, and he’s going to make sure that they count. 

Before he can start up a conversation, the event coordinator’s voice booms out over a speaker, and suddenly its showtime. Liam and Lou say a hasty goodbye to Harry as they dash off in their respective directions, Harry heading towards the front, where the the Valedictorians are getting in order. He gets in his spot, taking a deep breath and briefly closing his eyes. He shouldn’t be nervous, it’s not like he has a speech or anything, but he never has been good with a lot of eyes on him. He twists around and sees Liam standing at the end of the Valedictorian line, and feels a bit of comfort when he sees him wave, quickly returning it before turning back around. 

The line begins to move, and Harry shuffles forward, hoping to god that he remembers how to use his feet, and soon, he’s entering into the arena, and he can hear the music and the clapping, and his heart thuds in his chest as he realizes that one of the pairs of eyes on him will be Louis. Somehow, he harnesses that thought and uses it to comfort him, standing up straight and walking with confidence, smiling brightly at all he passes, whether he knows them or not. He walks up the steps to the stage, filing into the seats designated for the Valedictorians, and he sits down, adjusting his gown and his cords and sashes. He looks up at all the many faces, and tries to pick his family and Louis out in the crowd, but he’s unable to, all the people blending together as his eyes get tired of looking. He contents himself with the fact that he can see the twins, and that must mean Louis is present in the venue somewhere. It’s okay, he’ll see him afterwards. 

The ceremony begins, starting with speeches by the district Superintendent, followed by two from the principals of West Monroe, and then the student speeches begin. Will Darbyshire gives a moving speech about the futures of all the graduating seniors, while Eleanor Calder has a humorous anecdote, resulting in a lighthearted atmosphere as the counselors begin to call out the names. Being a Valedictorian and having a last name fairly close to the beginning of the alphabet, he doesn’t have to wait long until he’s walking down and around to the podium, where he gives his name, and smiles at the familiar face of his counselor. 

“Harry Edward Styles!” she calls out in the microphone, his name booming all across the arena. He hears applause all around but the cheers are most definitely from his family, and his face snaps up in the direction of them. He can’t quite make out individual faces, but he sees the grouping that is his family, and he waves, smiling widely as he walks across the stage to meet his principal at the other side, where he shakes his hand, poses for a picture, and accepts his diploma. As soon as its in his hands, he feels complete, like he’s succeeded the first obstacle in the game of life, and nothing can stop him. 

***

The rest of the ceremony passes by slowly, Harry cheering for his friends, and spending the rest of time trying to find Louis in the crowd. He never can find him though, and so he’s especially eager to see him as the ceremony concludes, and everyone is released. He tosses his cap up in the air with his classmates, and hugs those nearest him, but he doesn’t hang back too long, wanting to beat the crowd and be outside first, where his family said they’re waiting. He breaks through the masses and pushes open the doors, the sun blinding him for a split-second as he slows down, blinking rapidly and running a hand through his hair as he looks all around him. He sees other families, but not his own, furrowing his brow as he walks further out, towards the street. He’s about to pull out his phone, when he hears his name being called. “Harry!” 

He turns around, and a smile breaks across his face as he sees his family waving at him, his parents and his sister. He runs towards them, not stopping as he crashes into them, letting them hug him. “Hey!” he says, losing himself in the loving embrace. “We’re so proud of you, Harry,” he hears Robin say, and his sister reciprocates it, clapping him on his back and ruffling his hair. Harry steps back, his face flushed with exhilaration and unable to stop smiling, so much so that his jaw is going to be sore. “Thank you, so much,” he says, looking at all of them. They all look back at him with pride, content smiles on their faces, and Harry returns them, until Gemma nudges him. “We know you want to go find Louis, so go find him, we’ll meet up later,” she says. Harry blushes, but lets out a laugh, pulling his sister into a hug, before stepping back, wringing his hands together. “I’ll text you, okay?” he asks. They all nod, and he smiles once more, before turning around and dashing off. 

He has no idea where he’s going, no idea where Louis and his family might be, but he hopes that just by running he’ll run into them. It’s not that big of an area, and he’s sure that Louis wouldn’t have left without seeing him. He’s halfway hoping to run into him when he’s with his family, that way he’ll at least get a glimpse of his parents, but he doesn’t know. He thinks he sees Lottie and Fizzy a few times, but it winds up not being them, and so he keep searching, getting a little more desperate the more time passes without finding a trace of the Brits. 

As he’s rounding the corner, luck seems to turn his way, and he sees Louis walking a ways ahead of him. He’s dressed semi-formally, but it’s kind of hard to tell the details with his back turned, and so Harry speeds up, smiling as he approaches him. However, that smile quickly fades as he realizes that Louis is walking faster than normal, and his hands are brought up to his chest, and he keeps looking over his shoulder, but to the left, where he can’t see Harry. He’s looking for someone, or something. He almost bumps into people as he walks haphazardly, not quite staying in a straight line as he pushes through. Harry’s eyes narrow and his brow grooves as he speeds up his own gait to catch up with Louis. His heart races as he wonders what’s wrong. Why is he appearing to be running from something, and where is his family? Why are his hands brought to his chest—something he only does when he’s having some sort of emotional episode? All of these questions race through Harry’s head as he finally breaks out into a run. 

A few long strides later, and he’s able to reach out a hand, and place it on Louis' shoulder. Louis flinches so hard Harry is afraid he’s given him whiplash and he quickly withdraws his hand as he moves around to be in front of Louis. “Hey, it’s me,” he says, eyes immediately searching Louis'. He feels dread as he picks up on the fear in those blue eyes, that hazy veil that darkens the color. He also notices how pale Louis' skin is, paler than usual, and his bottom lip is shaking. “Louis? What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully lifting up a hand, letting it hover above his locked hands, before settling carefully on top of them. Louis presses his lips into a tight line as he pierces Harry’s eyes with his own, suddenly grabbing onto Harry’s hand as if it’s a lifeline. “Can you please, uh, hug me?” he asks, his waterline suddenly shining. Harry narrows his eyes, concern stabbing at his heart, and he nods, not hesitating as he pulls Louis against him. 

To anyone giving them a passing glance, it just looks like an affectionate hug, but Harry can feel Louis trembling, and it makes his blood run cold. “Louis, please tell me what’s wrong,” he says quietly, wrapping the arm that Louis isn’t clinging to around him and holding him tightly, rotating them slightly to where Harry is blocking Louis from the view of the largest part of the crowd. Louis squeezes his hand tighter as he presses himself impossibly closer, letting his face rest against Harry’s neck. His breath is uneven against the sensitive skin, and Harry can feel Louis' heart with his hand, and it’s racing dangerously fast. 

“He’s here,” Louis suddenly says. “Who?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows, his eyes instantly scanning the crowd even though he has no idea who he’s looking for. “The boy who raped me,” Louis replies.


	3. Bedroom Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a bit more on the serious side :)

When you love somebody, and that person is in danger, the colors run, and all that's left is the black and white severity of what's wrong. All that matters is protecting that loved one, keeping them safe, removing them from the situation that is endangering them. You can't care less about your own danger, or how it might affect you. All you care about is making sure your person is okay. It's like an instinct almost, as if you were designed for this purpose, hardly even having to think as your subconscious guides you where you need to go.

That's how it is for most, and Harry is privy to it as well. As he stands in the middle of the crowd, looking around for the boy who stole Louis' innocence, all he can feel is an almost paralyzing urge to protect him to the fullest of his abilities. His muscles are tensed to the point of painful, and he hopes that he’s not holding Louis too tightly, but based on the way he’s trembling, he could probably afford to hold him even tighter than he already is. “Don’t be afraid,” Harry says, instantly moving his feet and guiding Louis out of the crowd. Louis nods, his curls tickling Harry’s chin. Harry tries not to move too quickly, or have such a murderous expression on his face, but he can’t really help it. Thankfully, it comes in handy in getting people to move out of his way, and he’s able to easily get him and Louis the thickest part of the crowd. 

“His name is AJ,” Louis suddenly says, out of the blue. Harry almost misses it, but he doesn’t, and his eyes narrow as the rapist suddenly is given a name, and with that, is turned into an actual person. He for some reason feels a tinge of familiarity at the name, but he can’t quite pinpoint why. He can’t focus too much on it either, too busy getting him and Louis back to his car, which is in the parking lot in front of them. “He’s a year older than you, and is either Asian or Hispanic, I’m not entirely sure,” Louis continues explaining, his voice shaky and terrified. Harry doesn’t know why the feeling of familiarity is growing in his stomach, but he doesn’t like it. If there’s even a remote chance of him knowing the boy who raped Louis, he doesn't know what he’ll do. 

Louis doesn’t say anything more after that, but he does adjust to where he’s not hugging Harry anymore, just clinging to his side, both of his arms wrapped around his waist as they walk forward. Harry loops an arm around Louis' shoulders, kissing his temple as they cross the street, watching out for traffic. “Why is he here, do you know?” Harry asks, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. Louis doesn’t answer for a minute, but when Harry looks over at him, his heart drops into stomach as he realizes Louis has teared up, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I don’t know,” he mutters, not meeting Harry’s gaze. Harry feels a chill course through him, and he tightens his grip around Louis. “I’m here, I won’t let him hurt you, I swear,” he says as they finally approach his car. He looks at Louis again, who just nods, his eyes kind of lost, staring at something that Harry can’t possibly see. He guides him around the car, sitting him down in his seat and buckling him in before jogging back around, ripping off his gown as he goes and tossing it in the backseat as he climbs in. 

He looks over at Louis as he starts the car, and wetness pricks his eyes as he sees that Louis has pulled his knees to his chest, and is silently crying. He reaches a hand over, but hesitates before placing it anywhere on Louis, not wanting to accidentally scare him in such a fragile state. He bites his lip before eventually retracting his hand and putting the car into drive. He doesn’t say anything, just keeping an eye on Louis with his peripheral vision as he calls his family. He quickly informs them that he’s canceling his evening plans and coming home, but that he’s bringing Louis with him, and that he’ll explain everything later, which is a blatant lie, but they don’t have to know that. 

The two arrive at Harry’s house relatively quickly, and Harry has to silence his phone as his friends are all asking where he is and he doesn’t have the patience to answer them. He gets out of the car and walks around to Louis' side, opening the door and helping him out. Before leading him inside he puts his hands on his shoulders and looks at him in the eyes. “Babe? We’re at my house, it’s okay,” he says gently. Louis swallows, but nods, sighing and running his hands down his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, leaning to rest his forehead against Harry’s collarbones. Harry’s expression is pained as he shakes his head, pulling Louis flush against him, rubbing his back. “This is not something you need to apologize for,” he says quietly. Louis takes a shaky breath against Harry’s chest, before turning his face to rest his cheek against it instead, inhaling deeply. 

They sway for a minute in Harry’s driveway before Harry kisses the top of Louis' head and gently pushes him back. “We’re going to go inside now, okay?” he asks. Louis stares at him, before smiling and nodding, pressing himself closer and carefully ghosting his lips over Harry’s. Harry quickly kisses him, supporting the back of his neck with his hand. Louis whimpers a bit into the kiss, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Harry’s shirt, wrinkling it. When Harry can taste salt, he breaks the kiss off, cradling Louis' face in both of his hands and wiping his tears with his thumbs. “Come on,” he whispers, before putting his arm around Louis' shoulders and guiding him inside. He can hear Louis' breathing increase as they walk inside and to Harry’s room, and by the time Harry shuts the door behind them, Louis is crying completely, his face crumpled with pain. “I’m s-sorry, I don’t know why this is affecting me so much,” he says as he stands in the middle of the room. 

Harry creases his forehead as he takes Louis' hand, giving it a small squeeze. “You saw the boy who hurt you for the first time in a long time, it’s okay to have this reaction,” he reassures. Louis stares at him, before nodding, moving to sit on the bed, pulling his knees back to his chest again. “I’m ruining the most important day of your life,” he says, staring over at Harry. Harry immediately shakes his head, kicking off his shoes and moving to sit behind Louis, winding his arms around him and carefully massaging his arms off of his legs. “No, you’re not,” he says. “This isn’t the most important day of my life,” Louis unlocks his arms from around his legs and settles back against Harry, who stretches his legs out so that Louis can lay between them, his arms wrapping around and locking at his waist, holding him securely. 

Louis takes a shaky breath, his hands falling to rest on top of Harry’s, thin fingers slotting in the spaces. “What will be the most important day in your life, then?” he whispers. Harry suddenly blushes as the answer instantly comes to his mind, and he debates on whether he should say it or not, but he realizes that of course he should say it. There’s no reason to doubt his feelings or his expectations anymore, and he has a feeling that they’ll help Louis for some reason. “Probably our wedding day,” he says, trying to keep the statement as light and casual as possible. He can feel Louis' heart speed up and hear his breath catch in his throat, and for a split-second Harry is afraid that he miscalculated the situation and said the entirely wrong thing. But then Louis turns his head, and a small smile decorates his lips. “I love you, so much,” he says, before kissing Harry surprisingly gently. Harry visibly relaxes as the relief courses through him, and kisses Louis back, letting the love leak through into it. 

Louis pulls away a few moments later, and falls back against Harry’s chest, pulling his arms tighter around his torso, shrinking himself even further. Harry’s eyes narrow in concern, but he doesn’t say anything, just silently adjust to Louis, and kisses the top of his head again. They lay there in silence for a moment, before Harry can’t help but notice how much Louis is trembling. He stays quiet for a moment, blaming it on circumstance and just making sure he’s as present as possible for him. For Louis. But as the seconds tick by, and Louis' heart doesn’t slow, his own speeds up as the worry begins to mount. Louis' hands tighten to the point where his knuckles are white, and his breathing is more like gasps. Harry shifts a bit behind him, and presses his lips against his neck, crinkling his brow. 

“Louis, love, you’re safe, I promise,” he whispers. Louis' head snaps to where he’s looking up at Harry, and his eyes are dilated in fear, washed it, portals into a world that Harry can’t possibly imagine. “What if he finds me?” he whispers, his voice breaking. Harry feels his heart ache for Louis as he sits them both up, wrapping his arms around Louis. “He won’t,” he says simply. Louis' face crumples, before he collapses back against Harry. 

“That’s what he said before he raped me,” 

 

“That’s what he said before he raped me,” Louis whispers, before he sucks in a sharp breath, and freezes up, pulling away from Harry. Harry watches with fear in his eyes as Louis' face reflects an expression of pure terror, the color leaving his cheeks and his pupils dilating to pinpoints, the blue in his eyes almost too noticeable. The tears roll down his cheeks silently, and his mouth moves but no words form. Harry sits up, pulling his legs back underneath him and hovering his hands over Louis' frozen body, not sure of what to do. “L-Louis?” he asks, his voice betraying him as it shakes. Louis doesn’t respond, looking straight ahead and visibly shaking, the tears building up in his eyes, but no noises being produced. He doesn’t even look at Harry. 

And when his face crumples and his hands move to pull at his hair, Harry starts to panic, and he immediately stands up, before stopping and not knowing what he’s doing. It’s clear that Louis is having some sort of reaction, a delayed one at that, and Harry doesn’t know how to handle it. He’s dealt with Louis' crying before, but for some reason he doesn’t think that a kiss and initiating sex is quite the best method this time. Because this time, he can’t even seem to get through to Louis. His heart is racing the more time that goes by with Louis in this semi-comatose state, sitting in the middle of his bed and staring at the wall, lips parted, face pale, trembling. Harry is afraid that he’s going to stop breathing or something, and so he quickly pulls out his phone. He freezes though, not knowing who to call. His finger hovers over Liam’s number for some reason, which he doesn’t understand because Liam can’t possibly help. 

Harry’s mind then goes to Lottie, but it’s with an angry jolt of realization that he remembers he doesn’t have her number, so she’s not an option. He glances over at Louis, biting down on his lip and almost going to him with the intent on just holding him until it’s over, but he knows how he gets when he has panic attacks. He doesn’t want anyone touching him, and he can’t know if Louis is the same way or not, but he just doesn’t want to risk it. As his mind is racing through the faces of people he knows, it finally hits him, and he feels rather stupid for not realizing it sooner. Niall. Louis' closest friend, the one that Harry used to always associate with Louis because they ate lunch together every day, maybe he’ll know. And he has his number. 

He doesn’t hesitate to call it, putting it to his ear and moving to stand in front of Louis, looking at him worriedly. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek as he prays to all the gods in existence that Niall picks up. He’s probably with Zayn, which means the chances are lower that he’ll pick up a call from Harry Styles, but Harry pushes those thoughts out of his mind. It does take about seven rings before the line connects, and temporary relief floods through his entire body, all the way to the tips of his toes. “Harry?” Niall says, his Irish accent especially evident through the phone lines. “Niall,” Harry gasps, resting a hand over his heart as he breaths heavily. “Thank god,” he continues. Niall pauses on the other line, before replying, his voice uncertain. “Uh, is everything okay? Why are you calling me?” he asks. 

Harry swallows, eyes darting to look at Louis again, who is still staring at the wall, the tears leaving glistening tracks down his cheeks. “Um, Louis is having some sort of…episode,” he starts to explain. He realizes almost instantly that he has to choose his words very carefully, because Niall doesn’t know about the rape. Louis said that only Harry himself and his parents are aware, and so Harry has to respect that decision to keep it that private. And so he makes sure to be as vague as possible. “He’s kind of just frozen in front of me, not responding to anything,” he continues on. “I don’t know if he’s ever done that around you but, I don’t know what to do, and you’re one of his best friends,” He stops speaking then, waiting for Niall’s response. A few silent seconds pass, with Harry growing antsy and nervous again as he looks back at Louis, and realizes that he’s begun barely scratching at his wrists. 

Just as Harry opens his mouth to tell Niall to hurry, Niall speaks up, cutting him off. “Yeah, I have,” he sighs, a note of exhaustion in his tone. Harry’s eyes widen as he hold the phone tighter against his ear, his hand still over his heart. “Okay, what do I need to do?” he asks. Niall takes a deep breath, and Harry hears some movement on the other end of the line, before he speaks again. “He responds well to any sort of physical contact,” he starts. “And darkness. He, uh, it tricks him into thinking nobody can see him in pain. And the quiet, he hates any noise,” Niall takes a deep breath then, and for some reason Harry can picture him running a hand through his spiky blonde hair. “That should do the trick, but you still kind of just have to wait it out,” he adds on. 

Harry nods, suddenly looking hopefully at Louis, now that he knows what to do to help him. Before he lets Niall go though, a bout of confusion hits him. “Niall? How do you know what to do?” he says slowly. Niall hesitates, before exhaling quietly, the sound crackling through the receiver. “I know about his rape,” he confesses. Harry’s jaw drops, but before he can ask for an explanation, Niall gives him one. “He was drunk one night, and he kind of just told me, but he doesn’t know that I know,” he elaborates. “It was just a few weeks after it happened I think, because he had so many episodes then, that’s how I learned what he responded to best,” Harry listens intently, surprised by how mature Niall sounds. He’s only sixteen. But then again, so is Louis. Age is all relative, it doesn’t determine someone’s maturity or ability to comprehend that which is deemed too ‘complex’ for them. Harry knows that for sure. 

“Thank you Niall, so much,” Harry breathes, his voice genuine and heartfelt. He suddenly has a newfound respect for Niall Horan, and vows to become true friends with him from here on out. Niall chuckles on the other line. “Of course,” he says, and then his tone is serious. “I have to go, but please call me when he’s better, okay? I hate knowing that he’s still hurting,” Harry feels tears gather in his eyes at the words, and the sincerely concerned tone in Niall’s voice. “Of course I will,” he whispers. “Thank you,” Niall replies, and then suddenly the line disconnects, and Harry looks back at Louis. The first thing he does after putting his phone in his pocket is turn off the lights, walking blindly forward until his legs hit the bed and he climbs in, moving back to where he’s behind Louis, and wrapping his arms tightly around him. “I’m here, baby,” he whispers, before shutting his mouth for good, deciding not to say anything further. 

Louis, true to Niall’s words, responds to Harry’s touch in a positive manner, immediately turning around to rest his head against his chest, taking a handful of Harry’s shirt in his hand, his breathing speeding up. Harry shifts them both up the bed, to where he’s resting against the headboard, and he wraps his arms once again around Louis, holding him as close as physically possible, and kissing the top of his head. He closes his eyes against the darkness, finding it pointless to keep them open, and with the loss of his sight, his hearing enhances, and he can hear Louis' breathing. It’s fast and uneven at first, but as he holds him, and rubs his hand up and down his spine, in a patterned motion, his breathing evens out, and slows down. He can feel a wetness on his chest, no doubt from Louis' tears, but he doesn’t mind it. 

Sitting here in the dark, holding Louis against him, the love that he feels for him becomes tangible almost, a warm blanket settling over him and keeping them both safe. His heart swells and aches for Louis, and he realizes in this moment that he will do anything to protect him, he will sacrifice whatever he needs to to save Louis. He’s never felt something that intense for a person before, and to know that he’s feeling it for Louis, it’s a little overwhelming. They’re three months into their relationship, they’re so young, but these feelings are real. And like Harry said, age is just a number. That’s all it marks. Harry takes a shaky breath, before curling against Louis himself and kissing the top of his head again. Louis shifts just a bit, and Harry is worried that he moved too quickly, but when he feels a steady stream of hot air against his neck, he realizes that Louis has fallen asleep against him. 

He carefully massages his hand that’s still clenched into a fist around his shirt until it loosens, only to grab at Harry’s own hand. It becomes clear that Louis isn’t all the way asleep, as he links his fingers between Harry’s, and moves his head to where it’s resting on Harry’s shoulder, his lips near his ear. “I love you,” he breathes, barely audible. 

***

The next morning, while Louis is still asleep, Harry sends Niall a quick text to reassure him, knowing that if the situations were reversed he’d be worried sick. Careful not to jostle Louis too much, Harry types out the words into his phone, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. 

to: Niall Horan  
*he’s fine, sleeping right now, thank u for all ur help i owe u one xx* 

He sits his phone down, but is surprised when Niall immediately replies, his phone vibrating next to him. He picks it up, and crinkles his brow as he reads the reply, fear immediately falling over him like a veil that blocks out all of the light in the room. 

from: Niall Horan  
*okay, good. he’s more broken than he appears, Harry, take care of him, please* 

 

The Styles family is gone when Harry wakes up, he can tell because the house has that silence about it that only exists when he is the only one inhabiting it. It’s an eerie if not comforting silence, and he can only be grateful for it, especially since he’s pretty sure Louis is going to need some sort of distraction this morning. Currently he’s asleep on Harry’s chest, breathing steadily, his curls spilling over his forehead, his cheeks relaxed, lips plump and pressed together as he inhales and exhales through his nose. His nose ring is angled in such a way that it isn’t poking into Louis' skin as his cheek lays over Harry’s heart, and Harry can’t help but feel an intense wave of affection for the younger boy as he runs his hand up the length of his spine. 

Harry doesn’t know what time it is, but as he lays there, waiting for Louis to wake up, his mind wanders. He thinks about graduation, an event that will forever be shadowed by the bigger, more significant event of Louis' rapist being back in town. When those thoughts return, Harry feels that anger return, and he clenches his jaw as he automatically tightens his grip around Louis, his protective instincts overpowering every other need. He’s never felt something quite as intense as this urge to protect Louis, not with anyone, even his siblings. But the thought of Louis being hurt, being in any situation where his is not comfortable, it makes Harry lose sleep. It makes his heart ache, it makes his muscles tense up, it makes him wonder what the hell happened to cause him to feel this way over a sixteen-year-old boy. What force is working through him, making him experience these emotions that he never expected to experience with anyone? 

He supposes he’ll never know, that some things are just beyond explanation, and his relationship with Louis is just one of those things. It’s not a bad thing, it’s actually a rather beautiful thing, and he’ll just have to live without having all the answers. What he does know is that he loves Louis, loves him more than he loves himself, and he will do anything and everything to make sure he is safe. And the first thing he can do is call Josh and ask him why the hell his former roommate is back in town, and if they knew of his rapist tendencies all along. That’s what he can do. He can get some of those answers, and do his best to get that piece of shit out of the entire state of Oregon. He finds himself fuming again, and so he takes a deep breath, careful not to jostle Louis too much, and pinches the bridge of his nose as he relaxes back again. He can’t do anything yet, so he shouldn’t work himself up. 

To distract himself, he gently pushes Louis' hair back from his forehead, to better see his face, and admires it. Every crook, curve, and crevice of the expanse of pale, smooth skin. He admires his eyebrows, he admires his cheekbones, his admires the way his lashes rest gently over his eyes as he sleeps, he admires his reddened lips, he admires his cute little nose, he admires every thing about his porcelain face. He’s truly carved by the gods, an angel in every definition of the word, something to be worshipped. And that’s just his face. His body, long and slender, slotted against Harry’s perfectly, with beautiful limbs, beautiful curves, beautiful everything. From his feet, to his hands, every inch Harry can get lost in. His hands especially though. With his long fingers, and pretty palms, he has gorgeous hands. They’re resting gently on either side of Harry’s upper torso now, fingers slightly bent, palms facing downwards. 

Harry carefully lifts one of his hands, bringing it closer to his face, his own touch featherlight as he studies it, turning it over just barely, running his thumb along the smooth inner skin, before moving it back to where it was. However, before he can slip his hand away, Louis' fingers flex, and grab onto Harry’s hand, gripping it tightly as Louis lets out a groan, shifting on top of Harry. Harry watches with a little bit of excitement as Louis pulls himself up into a sitting position, straddling Harry hips as he yawns, stretching. The action causes Louis' shirt to ride up a bit, exposing his stomach and the darker trail of hair down to his crotch, along with the two diagonal lines of his v-line, and Harry tries not to look too hard, lifting his eyes instead to Louis' face. His eyes are clenched shut as he yawns, arms bent at the elbows and lifted up with the stretch. 

He stops yawning and stretching as Harry is watching him, his bright blue eyes fluttering open and staring at his surroundings for a moment, before sliding down to lock with Harry’s. A smile spreads across his face as his hands drop down to rub Harry’s chest. “I didn’t disrupt your sleep did I?” he asks, his voice husky from having not spoken. Harry instantly shakes his head, smiling softly as he rests his hands on top of Louis'. “Of course not,” he replies, his own voice gruff. Louis chuckles, adjusting his hands to where his fingers link between Harry’s, and he gives a gentle squeeze as he lifts them slightly, rotating them in a circle before resting them on either side of Harry’s torso. Louis stares at Harry some more then, his eyes studying him, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as he does so. Harry stares right back, not wanting to say anything, just—like I said—getting lost in the sight of Louis. 

“I can’t believe I’m dating a high school graduate and Princeton kid,” Louis suddenly says, perking his eyebrows up before gigging. Harry flushes immensely, rolling his eyes as he releases Louis' hands to grab his shoulders and pull him down closer. “I can’t believe I’m dating a sixteen-year-old high school student and British kid,” he says mockingly. This time it’s Louis who rolls his eyes, shuffling a bit further up so that his face hovers above Harry’s. “Nothing about that statement is anywhere near as impressive as what I said,” he remarks. Harry chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as he tilts his head. “I think the British part is pretty cool,” he muses. Louis hesitates, before laughing and shaking his head slightly, making to sit up again. However, before he can get very far, Harry puts his hand on the back of his neck and pulls him back down. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, raising his brows. 

Louis blinks for a moment, before his eyes darken and he smirks, chuckling darkly before relaxing again and letting his lips ghost over Harry’s. “Is there something you want?” he asks, his voice sultry. Harry feels his mouth water and his blood run a little warmer as he stares at Louis, not wavering. He maintains the stare as he presses back against Louis' lips, letting his hand move upward into Louis' hair, gripping it tightly. He runs his tongue over Louis' lower lip, and Louis chuckles, putting one hand on the side of Harry’s face as he parts his lips and lets Harry’s tongue slip past into his mouth. He moans softly as Harry dominates his mouth, applying more pressure as he licks every inch of Louis' hot, wet mouth. Louis lazily laps his tongue back against Harry’s, but he gives Harry all of the control. Harry takes it in the way he trails one hand down Louis' chest, barely feeling the indentations of his muscles through the cotton material. He slips it underneath once he reaches the end, his palm resting lightly on Louis' stomach, right over his bellybutton, the steady rise and fall of his breath increasing with his touch. He continues to kiss Louis, slowing it a bit as he sucks on his bottom lip, his hand working its way lower again, outlining the waistband of Louis' pants. 

He runs his fingers all the way over to Louis' v-line, which he traces, before following the line down past the elastic band and submerging his hand completely, resting his palm over Louis' hardening erection. He’s not fully hard yet, but Harry smirks against his lips, nipping a bit as he pushes his hand down on his crotch. Louis' breath catches as he stops kissing Harry, pulling back to look at him in the eyes, his lashes fluttering as his lips are parted, plump from the pressure applied to them by Harry. His eyes are dark, blown out with lust as Harry continues to palm him, pressing down a little harder as he lets his hand move up and down the outline of his cock beneath his underwear. His own length stirred beneath his boxers, but he focused his attention on Louis, knowing that he’d be getting plenty in just a few seconds. “You’re so hard already, my sweet boy,” he says quietly, his other hand reaching up to stroke Louis' cheekbone with his thumb. Louis groans at his words, responding by rolling his hips against Harry’s hand. 

Harry decides to give Louis more of what he’s after by slipping past the final layer of fabric and letting Louis' throbbing member twitch against his fingers. “Ugh,” Louis groans, rutting into Harry’s hand almost immediately as he wraps his fingers around it and gives it a small squeeze, before dipping his thumb into the slit and smiling mischievously at all the pre-cum that had already gathered their. He uses it to aid him in his movements as he flicks his wrist at a moderate pace, pulling at Louis' length. Harry feels himself growing fully hard looking at Louis' face, as it crumples and he arches his neck back, his curls flopping uselessly as he jerks his hips into Harry’s hand, little whimpers escaping as Harry continues to give him the hand job. 

Louis leans into the hand that is still touching his face, his own hand moving down to stop Harry’s ministrations. “I’m going to c-come if you keep doing that,” he gasps, breathless. Harry—as much as he would love to see Louis come in his hand—pulls it out and off of Louis, watching as Louis catches his breath and opens his eyes, looking down at Harry. His eyes rake down Harry’s exposed chest then, lingering near his crotch, before traveling back up and resting on his eyes. His are dark as midnight, his cheeks are flushed, and his chest is rising and falling from beneath his shirt. “God, I want to fuck you,” he says abruptly. The words send a rush of energy and blood to Harry’s crotch, and he groans, grinding his hips upwards as he arches his back slightly. “Then fuck me,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Louis' eyes widen as his jaw drops in disbelief for a split-second, before he narrows his eyes back into their sultry gaze, and pulls the corners of his lips up in a smirk. “Is that what you want? For me to take you?” he asks, his voice like velvet. Harry can only nod, a little desperate in his movements as he thrusts up under Louis again, their crotches brushing together. Louis chuckles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips, before shuffling back and settling between Harry’s legs, not wasting time being a tease as he pulls his pants down and off, throwing them to the side. He takes a moment to admire Harry’s cock as it rests against Harry’s groin, hardened and twitching just a bit. Harry is breathing heavily, starting to feel slightly self-conscious as Louis continues to stare at him. “Touch yourself,” Louis says suddenly, Harry’s eyes snapping to meet with his. He’s completely serious, raising his eyebrows as he waits for Harry to do as he said. 

Harry blushes, but obeys, wrapping his fingers around his length and giving it a good pump or so, moaning at the friction and pleasure that comes with it. Louis watches for a moment, licking his lips, before settling his hands on either side of Harry’s thighs, and gently pushing them apart. “Keep touching yourself baby,” he reminds Harry, who quickly picks up the movements of his hand. He isn’t quite sure what they’re doing, it’s not quite BDSM, because he doesn’t feel that dominance and obedience factor that he felt when they did it that last time, but it isn’t their typical love-making session. As he’s stroking himself, he feels the lust build up as Louis leans forward, and Harry can feel his hot breath against his entrance. He clenches around nothing in response, and is expecting Louis to put his fingers in his mouth then, but is instead completely caught off guard when he feels Louis' tongue lapping at his hole instead. 

“Fuck! Do that again,” he gasps, feeling kind of bad as he pushes his ass into Louis' face a little more, involuntarily. He can hear Louis' chuckles from below him, before he feels that hot wetness again, and he lets out a very pathetic mewl at the feeling. Louis doesn’t pull away that time, licking at his entrance again, circling the muscles with the tip of his tongue, not quite doing what Harry wants, but Harry is patient, just continuing to stroke his cock as Louis teases him. Louis circles his rim a few more times, before finally pushing his tongue past his tight entrance, and licking inside of him. Harry lets out a loud gasp, squeezing his length tightly as Louis runs his tongue over the muscles inside of him. “Oh G-God, Louis, don’t stop, don’t stop!” he pants, his head thrashing from side to side as Louis continues to work his tongue inside of him. 

He locks his arms under Harry’s thighs, holding them apart as he starts to truly thrust his tongue in and out of Harry, occasionally pressing it back against his front. Harry is writhing mess further up, one hand lamely holding his cock, not moving it, the other one gripping fistfuls of the sheets as he moans out, desperate. Louis doesn’t cease his movements, licking harsher into Harry, stretching him out with his tongue, getting more eager to take him by the second. “L-Louis, I’m gonna—,” Harry starts to say, but he stops as soon as he hears his voice, pulling his tongue out. Harry whines pathetically at the loss, but knows it’s better, knowing that he’d much rather come to Louis' cock inside of him. Buried so deep he can feel it all the way to his naval. 

“You look so hot, all ready for me to fuck you,” Louis says as he strips down, spitting on his hand before slicking his length up. Harry looks at him, a spark of intuition hitting him as he blindly fumbles in his bedside drawer and throws the bottle of lube to Louis. Louis catches it, silently thanking Harry with a smile as he squirts some onto his hands, and then coats his cock in it, using the excess to rub over Harry’s entrance. “Do you want it slow, or fast?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle and not sultry or sassy at all, a departure that’s for sure. Harry takes a moment to gather his thoughts as he feels the tip of Louis brush his entrance. He lifts his arms to grip Louis' shoulders as he answers. “Slow, but please,” he gasps, as Louis starts to push inside of him. “Please no t-teasing,” Louis chuckles as he sinks smoothly into Harry, his tight heat adjusting to him easily. He lowers his head to pepper kisses over Harry’s jaw before pressing one at the dip below his ear. “No teasing,” he confirms, rolling his hips once and filling Harry completely. 

Harry cries out at the feeling, his legs immediately lifting and locking around Louis' waist, pushing him impossibly further inside. Louis lets out his own groan as he positions himself, his hands flat against the mattress to hold himself up as he begins to carefully pull out of Harry, waiting until only the tip is still inside of him, before rolling his hips forward and sliding back inside of him, feeling himself press right up against Harry’s prostate. “Ugh!” Harry says, his nails digging into Louis' skin as Louis repeats the action, going slow, but not agonizingly so. “Thank you,” Louis says suddenly, not halting the movement of his hips, but gaining Harry’s attention as he snaps his eyes open and looks at him, confused. “For wh-what?” he stutters, face crumpling slightly as Louis brushes his prostate again. “For what you did for me, yesterday,” Louis says, his own face contorting as Harry clenches around him. Harry’s eyes shine as he stares up at Louis, his forehead creasing as he moves his hands from Louis' shoulders to hold his face instead, thumbs swiping across his cheekbones once before he pulls his lips to meet his own. 

The two kiss gently and passionately as Louis continues to thrust into Harry at a slow pace, his back muscles highlighted with each movement, his entire body glistening with sweat as he brings himself and Harry closer and closer to their orgasms. Harry continues to kiss Louis even as he feels the lust pool in his stomach, and his thoughts become jumbled, and his eyes squeeze shut. Louis breaks off the kiss, picking up on Harry’s gasps and the slight push back against his length, and he smiles at him as he brushes his hair out of his eyes and caresses his cheek. “Is my little Princeton prince about to come?” he whispers. Harry groans, arching his neck back and nodding clumsily as his hands fall from Louis. Louis chuckles, kissing Harry’s neck as he drags one hand down his chest to wrap around his length, giving it some good pumps as he continues to thrust straight into his prostate. 

“Mmm,” Louis hums as Harry’s whimpers become closer and closer together and he writhes even more beneath him. His face is contorted into an expression of pure lust, and it’s enough to push Louis closer to his own orgasm, his thrusts speeding up just slightly as he chases after it. “So close, Louis, I’m so close,” Harry whines, his eyes opening and finding Louis' black ones. Louis stares at him, stroking his length in time with his thrusts and watching as the lust clouds Harry’s eyes and he comes, a loud cry leaving his lips, his back arching and his ass clenching around Louis so tightly he almost comes, but he doesn’t, managing to keep some restraint as Harry spills into his hand. “Fuck, Louis,” he moans as he falls back against the mattress, gasping for breath. Louis gathers what didn’t land in his hand over his fingers before bringing it up to his mouth and licking everything clean. As he does so, he picks back up the pace of his own thrusts, his high returning to him quickly. 

“C-Can I come inside of you?” he pants, his eyes sliding shut as he straightens out and fucks roughly into Harry now, eager to come, as well. Harry’s hands grip Louis' waist, his voice still lustful when he speaks. “Fill me up, baby,” he says. And that’s all it takes for Louis to do just that, his entire body convulsing as he slumps down, slamming once more into Harry and spilling inside of him, feeling it surround his head as he sporadically jerks a few more times, before fully relaxing, gasping. “I can feel it inside me, it’s so warm,” Harry says, the dirty talk doing nothing to calm Louis down. He just groans once again as he thrusts one final time, and then reaching for the box of tissues that he knows Harry hides under his bed. Harry gets the memo and hands him the box, whimpering slightly as Louis slides out of him. Before anything can stain the sheets, Louis wipes the inside of Harry’s leg, and his entrance, making sure it’s all clear before pushing the tissues to the side. 

He runs a hand through his hair, before reaching down and grabbing his pants and Harry’s, and tossing him his pair. “Morning sex, that’s another marked off of our list,” he remarks. Harry only nods as he pulls his pants on, sitting up and watching as Louis copies him. The two just stare at each other for a moment, before Harry suddenly pulls Louis into a hug, cradling him closely despite how hot they both are. “Aw, baby, what’s wrong?” Louis chuckles, hugging Harry back lightly. Harry takes a shaky breath, suddenly very emotionally overwhelmed. “Nothing, I just love you, so much,” he replies, his voice quiet. Louis suddenly freezes, before hugging Harry back, much tighter this time, resting his cheek on his shoulder. 

“I love you more,” 

 

It’s the first week of summer, and while Harry would much prefer to be out in the sun, hiking and getting ice cream with his boyfriend, he’s instead driving him to Niall Horan’s house to be watched over like a little kid while he goes and plays bad cop with Josh. Louis reassures him that he understands why Harry doesn’t want him alone, and that he’s actually looking forward to spending time with his own best friend, but Harry can’t help but feel guilty for just dumping him somewhere without him. “Haz, babe, I may be young, but I’m not a child,” Louis says as they’re driving towards Niall’s house. He reaches a hand over the console to rest on Harry’s thigh, rubbing comforting circles into it. “You don’t have to go talk to them if you don’t want to, I’m okay now,” Harry’s heart drops at hearing Louis blatantly lie to try and get Harry to stay away from Josh. He’s not fine, he’s not okay, Harry knows that he’s not sleeping at night because Lottie has called him herself and told him. And he doesn't know what to do, because he can’t just drive over to the Tomlinson’s house in the middle of the night to comfort Louis. He would if he could, but he just can’t. Louis isn’t okay, he’s still terrified that his rapist is going to find him somehow, and do again what he did to him in the past. And to know that AJ is most likely staying with Josh, it makes Harry’s blood boil. 

“I do want to, Louis, so please let me,” he replies gently, letting one hand leave the wheel to fall on top of Louis' smaller one. He can’t quite look Louis completely in the eye, but he can feel those striking blue ones on him, and he can feel the waves of concern rolling off of Louis, as backwards as it is. Louis shouldn’t be the one worried for him, he’s not in danger. He stays silent for the rest of the drive though, just calmly holding Louis' hand in his own, feeling his soft skin against his. When they pull up to Niall’s house, their hands fall away as they both get out of the car. Louis walks around the front before falling into step with Harry as they approach Niall’s front door, Louis' head hanging and his hands shoved into his pockets. Before Harry reaches up to knock, though, he turns to face Louis, putting his hands on his shoulders and rubbing them comfortingly. 

“We’re going on that hike when I get back, okay?” he says, trying not to sound too paternal. He really doesn’t want Louis to feel like a child being dropped off at daycare, even if that’s kind of what this is. Louis lifts his head, the smile not reaching his eyes. “I’m shit at hiking,” he says. Harry laughs, moving his hands up to rest on Louis' cheeks, leaning forward to press his lips lightly over the younger boy’s. Louis sighs a bit, kissing Harry back, standing up straighter so that he’s the taller one, though pretty soon he won’t have to lift himself up at all. He’s already the same height as Harry, and he isn’t showing signs of slowing down. Harry is strangely excited about it, a smile coming to his lips as he thinks about Louis being the taller one. “What?” Louis asks curiously, pulling away and looking at Harry. Harry giggles a little more, shaking his head as he looks away, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing, I was just thinking about how tall you’re getting,” he says. 

He lifts his eyes to Louis' then, just in time to catch him rolling his eyes before he grabs the back of Harry’s neck and pulls him into an embrace, letting Harry rest his head on Louis' chest. “Sometimes I really wonder how your mind works,” he says, chuckling as he hugs Harry. Harry smiles into Louis' chest, giggling a little as well, relishing in Louis' touch as he rubs his back comfortingly. Louis continues to hold him for a few seconds, as is typically how their embraces go—lasting too long but not long enough—and it’s with reluctance that Louis pulls away, turning and knocking on Niall’s door. Instantly—almost too instantly—the door flies open, and a bubbly and hyper Niall Horan is revealed, with his blonde hair spiked and his blue eyes wide with excitement. “My best friend has arrived!” he shouts, his voice deep and his Irish accent thick. Louis chuckles, rolling his eyes as he lets Niall pull him roughly inside. 

Harry bites the inside of his cheek at Niall’s rowdiness, but doesn’t say anything, knowing that Louis isn’t broken, he can handle a little bit of rough housing on Niall’s part. “Mate, it’s fucking summertime, we are juniors now!” Niall exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. Louis laughs, a chorus of bells, and shakes his head, awkwardly throwing his hands up too. “One step closer to leaving this fucking place, ahhh!” he cries out, his face scrunched up as Niall throws an arm over his shoulders. Harry watches in amusement at the interaction, before stepping back, catching Louis' eye. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says quietly. Louis giggles, rolling his eyes. “Okay, daddy,” he says, and though his voice is light and casual, his eyes tell a different story as he looks at Harry, causing Harry to blush as he steps back again. 

It’s apparently not that subtle because Niall picks up on the double entendre, and makes a vomiting motion, pushing Louis further in the house. “Ohhhh-kay! I’ll take great of him Harry, don’t worry,” he says, flashing Harry a genuine smile. Harry tries to return it but is still a little embarrassed at being not even really ‘caught in the act’. He just nods his head, and Niall kind of slams the door in his face, and then he’s left alone on his porch. He takes a minute to gather himself and his thoughts, before shaking out his hair and walking back to his car, climbing in and turning the music up as loud as it can go, blasting all the way to Josh’s house. 

Having been one of his best friends, Harry remembers the way to his house like the back of his hand, something that has just never really slipped his mind. He remembers when he moved out at seventeen, a ridiculous age to do something that everyone thought was so stupid, but he’s since proved everyone wrong, managing to keep up the rent and keep everything standing. He may act and appear immature, but Harry knows that when it comes to adult things, he puts his nose to grindstone and doesn’t fuck around, and he has to respect that about him, much as he would prefer to linger on the fact that his selection of friends makes Harry’s vision go blurry. He’s hoping that he really are oblivious, that he has no idea that AJ raped Louis, but he can’t know that for sure. Which is why he’s here, he supposes. To get some fucking reasons. 

He tries to stay as calm as possible as he walks up the steps to Josh’s house, taking note of the lack of beer cans or trash that usually littered the garden. He knocks on the door, his heart racing and his blood boiling despite his so-called self-control, and when Josh opens the door, it’s all Harry can do to return his smile halfway. “Harry Styles, long time no see dude, come on in,” he says brightly, stepping aside. Harry walks up the one step, moving into the entryway enough so that Josh can close the door behind him. “The Tommo!” he exclaims, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he hits the floor. Harry smiles at him, before it fades and they’re wkwardly standing in the entryway, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Josh has the impeccable ability to make a situation not-awkward, and he claps his hands together loudly. “What can I do for you?” he asks, voice a little high-pitched. 

Harry lifts his eyes to meet Josh’s bright ones, and his gaze darts to the side, before the facade falls away entirely, and he lets a bit of the anger control him. “You can tell me what your former roommate, AJ, is doing back in town,” he says, his voice cold and formidable. Josh’s amused expression fades away at Harry’s tone, and they share a confused glance, tilting his head. “He’s just visiting, but why are you angry about it?” Josh asks, completely oblivious. Either he’s playing dumb, or he really doesn’t know, but Harry can’t tell, and it only makes him angrier. “Why am I angry? Ha!” he laughs a humorless laugh, looking up at the ceiling as he shakes his head. “He is a horrible person, I just was stopping by to let you know,” 

When he lowers his gaze to glare at Josh, he’s slightly surprised to see how confused he is, his jaw dropped and his eyes wide with ignorance. His own glare falters as it clicks in his brain that he really doesn’t know. “I’m sorry, I’m not angry at you, it’s not your fault for not knowing but,” he takes a shaky breath then, running a hand through his hair. Josh continues to stare at him, dumbfounded, waiting for an explanation, when Harry realizes that he can’t exactly give him one without spilling Louis' secret. “He’s just…he’s a bad person, you have to believe me, and I need to know when he’s leaving town,” he sighs. Josh continues to display confusion for a moment, before he steps forward, wringing his hands together. “He’s, uh, he’s leaving in two days, going back to California,” he informs. Harry stares up at him, noticing the veil of worry over his eyes, and he tries his best to smile, nodding and putting his hands in his pockets as he starts to walk back towards the door. “Thank you, that’s all I needed to know,” 

Josh stays silent, most likely trying to fill in the blanks that Harry has left in his matrix, so there’s nobody to stop him as he opens the door, just in time to see AJ himself about to unlock it. Their eyes lock, and time seems to stand still as Harry realizes he’s face to face with the boy who violated Louis, who took his innocence from him forcefully, who hurt him beyond repair. He’s standing face to face with the person he wants to burn in hell for the rest of eternity. There’s a split-second flash of recognition in AJ’s eyes, before suddenly he’s flying backwards from the force of Harry’s fist, and hitting the sidewalk hard, his nose instantly bleeding and his elbows scraped from the fall. Harry makes to go after him, to deliver blow after blow until he’s nothing more than a lifeless pulp on the ground, but it’s then that Josh snaps out of his confusion-induced reverie, and grab Harry by the shoulders, holding him back. “Harry, don’t!” Josh screams. Harry struggles against the hold, the tendons in his neck sticking out as he desperately tries to break free, glaring pure hatred in AJ’s direction, AJ, who has sat up, touching his jaw and looking at Harry, terrified. 

“I hope you know he can’t sleep at night because of you, you worthless piece of shit,” Harry spits, still trying to pull away from Josh. AJ looks at him, confused, before he puts the pieces together and realizes who Harry is, and who he’s talking about, his face draining of all color. He stumbles back, holding his hands up as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, it was a mistake, p-please tell him I’m sorry,” he stammers, his voice so shaky it’s almost hard to tell what he’s saying. Harry doesn’t feel anything but fiery rage at the half-assed, empty apology, and he only yanks harder against his restraints. Before he can say anything else or break free though, AJ has run off back to his car, scrambling inside and speeding away. It makes Harry literally scream out loud at the fact that he only got in one punch, when AJ deserved so much worse. “Harry, calm down!” Josh says, releasing Harry to move around to stand in front of him, looking him in the eyes. 

Harry glares at him, able to pull free of the hold now, and standing up straight, brushing himself off. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, looking away and pushing past Josh. He expects Josh to stop him, or ask him what just happened, but he’s grateful when none of those things happen, and he can go straight to his car. He backs out dangerously fast, going near-fifty before even hitting the main roads, and that’s when he tells himself that he needs to slow down, collect his thoughts, and stop being angry. He got what he needed and then some going to Josh’s house. He got to find out that AJ would be leaving soon, and he got to give AJ just a slight taste of his own medicine. That may be all he’ll get, so he can’t be angry that he didn’t get to hurt somebody more than he wanted to. He checks the time, and realizes that he’s only been gone from Niall’s for thirty minutes, and he told Louis he’d be gone for a few hours, but he can’t just go home and kill time to give Louis more with Niall. Niall isn’t his boyfriend, and now that he and Harry share some sort of bond, perhaps it’d be good for all three to spend some time together. 

Harry focuses on that, on getting to know more about Louis' best friend, and it helps him stay calm as he drives back to Niall’s house. His heart is completely slowed down by the time he arrives, but it quickly speeds back up as he sees another car in the driveway. It’s a sleek black one, freshly washed and exuding an aura of pretentiousness. It’s Zayn Malik’s car. Now, Harry doesn’t have any sort of disposition towards his fellow former classmate, but he hasn’t spoken to him about any of the rumors since they started, and he supposes that he’s about to get to now. He doesn’t entirely know what direction it’ll go in, good or bad, but he remembers Zayn smiling at him the day he kissed Louis in the cafeteria, so he supposes it’s safe to assume that Zayn has a kind heart, however backwards his methods may be. 

As he’s walking up to the door, he’s surprised to see it that it opens, and Zayn exits, rushing out and looking directly at Harry, as if he saw him pull up and is coming out to meet him. “Harry, you’re back early,” he says, his British accent similar but not quite so to Louis' one. Harry furrows his brows in confusion as he comes to a stop in front of the boy, looking at him curiously. “Yeah, I am,” he says, his eyes darting to the house. “Is everything okay?” Zayn nods, before biting his lip and stepping forward to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It will be,” he says quietly. Harry’s eyes widen exponentially as the fear courses through him and he immediately starts to push past Zayn towards the front door. He has to get to Louis, something is wrong, he has to be there for him. But as he makes to move, he realizes that Zayn’s a lot stronger than he appears, and he holds back Harry easily. “It’s alright, Harry, Niall’s got him, he’ll be okay,” he reassures, his voice surprisingly convincing. Harry snaps his head back to look at Zayn, his face pale. 

Zayn’s eyes are steady, and calm, and he relaxes his grip on Harry’s arm, stepping back just a bit. “He’s having an episode or something, and Niall is dealing with it,” he explains further. Harry feels tears prick at is eyes as he processes the words, and he suddenly wishes he had never left Louis without him, especially not to go and do what he just did at Josh’s house. Now Louis is having a breakdown and his boyfriend isn’t there to help him. The person who loves him most isn’t there to help him. But it could be worse. He could be entirely alone. And he’s not. He has his best friend. And deep down, Harry knows that it’s not a good idea to go in now, not in the middle of it, that it’ll only freak Louis out more. And so as much as it pains Harry to do so, he doesn’t move forward. He presses his lips into a tight line, and clenches his hands into fists as he turns back to look at Zayn Malik instead. 

 

It’s an awkward few minutes spent on the sidewalk outside of Niall’s house, just two boys staring at each other, either unsure of what to say. Neither willing to speak. The longer Harry just stands there, the more concerned and worried for Louis he grows to be. The more his legs are itching to jolt forward, to shove past Zayn and go inside to his boyfriend, where he should probably be. His eyes dart to the front door at that thought, before darting back to Zayn, who is already staring at him, raising his eyebrows. It’s subtle, but Harry notices him tense up, preparing to hold Harry back if necessary. 

“Look,” he suddenly says, breaking the silence and forcing Harry to pay attention to him. “While we’re awkwardly standing here, I might as well explain some things to you,” He raises his eyebrows, revealing his blue irises even more, and Harry had never realized before just how blue they were. As blue as Niall’s, as blue as Louis'. He’s confused as to what Zayn’s getting at, and really only half-listening, but Zayn’s gaze is serious enough to at least keep his gaze from drifting. Zayn gazes back at him for a moment, studying him, searching his own eyes, before he finally speaks. 

“I know you know that I started the rumors about you and Louis,” he deadpans, his gaze suddenly almost bored. Harry’s eyes widen as he realizes what Zayn is getting at, and he takes a step back, suddenly embarrassed for some reason, and wanting to just turn around and run away from this situation as fast as possible. The rumors thing is a closed and locked door, the last thing Harry needs is to reopen it, and yet, that’s what Zayn’s doing. Of course, it really seems like he’s just trying to maybe replace the lock with something stronger. Perhaps he’s just giving Harry the closure he doesn’t know he needs. Zayn doesn’t move closer or adjust his bored gaze, he just continues to stare at Harry as he is the one to adjust his expression to a calm one, nodding just a bit to answer Zayn’s non-question. 

Zayn nods back, putting his hands in his pocket as he tilts his head to the sun, squinting a bit against it. “I did it because I don’t want you and Louis to end with the summer,” he says. Harry processes the words, feels the filter through his ears and enter into his brain, and while he understands logistically what they mean, grammatically he comprehends the sentence structure, what he doesn’t understand is the meaning behind them. What is Zayn talking about? Zayn has been the nail in his heel ever since his little comment outside of the English classroom all those months ago, and he’s trying to say that he’s been advocating for Harry and Louis, rather than against them all along. Harry always knew Zayn Malik was a complex character, a foreign exchange student who always inspired more questions than answers, but this is one step beyond that. This is something straight out of fiction. 

Zayn doesn’t even give Harry a chance to question the statement, continuing on before he can even fully refocus his attention. “I know a little bit about Louis because of Niall, and I know that he’s needed someone like you for a while,” he says, his eyes darting up from where they had drifted to the ground to meet with Harry’s wide, astounded ones. “And when he got together with you, I knew I had to make sure that you could survive anything,” He stops then, and there’s a long enough bout of absolute silence for Harry to know that it’s his turn to speak next, that Zayn is giving him the opportunity to, but he doesn’t have any clue of what to say. How in the hell are you supposed to respond to something like that? To someone who has just told you that they took something malevolent and used it for good, how often are you responding to something like that? 

“Thank you,” he blurts out, figuring it’s the simplest thing he can say that still encompasses everything that he could say. “I guess,” he tacks onto the end, because is it really something you give gratitude for? Thank you for ruining my life for a few weeks, even if it was with the best intentions? Zayn stares back at Harry for a moment, before just nodding, tucking his lips in and stepping to the side. Harry wonders why he’s moving for a moment, before it dawns on him that he’s giving him permission to go inside. His eyes widen, and all thoughts of the conversation that just expired are overshadowed by the primal desire to go be with the one who holds his heart in his hands. He dashes past Zayn, sprinting almost to the door, reaching a hand out to grab the handle and push it forward, stepping into the entryway and immediately stopping, his head snapping from the left to the right as he realizes he has no idea where Niall’s room is. “Down the hall, second door on your left,” Zayn suddenly says, right behind Harry. Harry doesn’t turn to look at Zayn, just following his directions blindly. 

He arrives at the second door on the left, and opens it, a little breathless. The first thing he registers is how dark it is, the only light source being a gently burning candle on the nightstand. The second thing he registers is a bright pair of seemingly floating blue eyes in the darkness, situated in the center of the room, most likely on Niall’s bed. As Harry’s eyes adjust, he can make out the figures of Louis and Niall, and he runs a hand through his hair, breathing heavily as he looks at Louis. “What happened?” he asks, his voice quiet. At his words, a second pair of eyes is revealed, and before Harry can even say anything to Louis, he’s being pushed back against the wall by the force of the Brit, whose arms are wrapping around him so tightly it’s a little difficult to breathe. 

“L-Louis!” he cries out, his own arms instantly winding around the smaller boy, holding him close. He can feel Louis shaking, and feel his breath hitting his neck in little gasps, and he’s instantly terrified. He makes eye contact with Niall over Louis' shoulder, though his view is slightly obstructed by Louis' hair as he presses himself impossibly closer to Harry, burying his face in his neck, his feet slotted between Harry’s. Niall stands up, a little exasperated, moving to stand next to Zayn, who had slipped quietly in behind Harry. “He’ll be okay, he’s just probably happy you’re here,” he explains. Harry’s brow crinkles a little, but he just nods, accepting it and carefully lifting his arms to pull Louis back a little. 

Louis doesn’t resist the movement, letting Harry lean him back until he can make eye contact with the boy, his hands moving to rest on either side of Louis' face. “Baby, it’s okay, I’m here,” Harry says quietly, his thumbs running across Louis' cheekbones to wipe away the remaining tears. Louis' eyes are wide and especially childlike in this moment, and his bottom lip trembles as he speaks. “Can you please take me home?” he asks quietly, helplessly. Harry feel his own face crumple as he nods, brushing his hands through Louis' hair before sliding them down on his back and pulling him back against his chest. “Yes, I can, my sweet boy,” he whispers. He lifts his eyes to look at Zayn and Niall, both of whom give him understanding nods, and walk him to the door, holding it open and watching to make sure Harry got Louis in the car okay. Harry reminds himself to return to Zayn and Niall, and properly thank them, once Louis is okay again. 

Harry drives not to Louis' home, but to his own, feeling that it will better than returning Louis to his own home. Zayn did mention something about Louis' episode being caused by something to do with his family, and so the last thing Harry is sure Louis wants is to be put back in a house full of only his family members. Plus, Harry’s family is out coordinating an event, and he’ll have the house to himself. As if to confirm his point, the garage and drive are empty when he pulls up, and he sighs a little sigh of relief. He does not want to interact with anyone right now except Louis, and he’s positive Louis feels the same way. Louis is already out of the car when Harry jogs around the front to help him, and he looks at Harry in a strange way, his eyes squinted against the sun, head slightly tilted. “Everything okay, Lou?” Harry asks as he comes a stop in front of him. Louis' eyes dart to meet his, and he nods, a little slowly. “Yeah, sorry, I just…I feel weird,” he says. 

Harry furrows his brow at Louis' words and his tone, but only responds by wrapping an arm around Louis' waist. “Okay, let’s just go inside and I’ll make you something to eat,” he says gently. Louis nods, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder as he’s led inside. Harry is slightly worried but at least Louis isn’t crying or—even worse—staying silent. He turns the corner to go into his bedroom, relishing in the quiet of an empty house as he pushes open his door and doesn’t hear either the soft thud of Gemma’s music or Robin’s loud yelling at whatever game it is that he happens to be playing. He kicks off his shoes, Louis copying him, before carefully slipping his arm from around Louis' waist to move his shoes to his closet. Once they’re where they belong Harry turns around, and sees Louis chewing his bottom lip, that same confused expression on his face. Harry tilts his own head in response, stepping closer and reaching out to take Louis' hand in his own. “Louis, what’s wrong, baby?” he asks gently. 

Louis' eyes snap up to meet with Harry’s, and he stops chewing his lip only to bite down on it. “I just feel…really young, for some reason,” he explains, his voice apprehensive. Harry chuckles, rubbing his thumb over Louis' hand as he moves ever closer. “You are young, Louis,” he remarks. Louis looks at him, his blue eyes shimmery, and just nods, squeezing Harry’s hand back. “Yeah,” he breathes, before looking away and around. “Is the house empty?” he asks suddenly, looking up at the ceiling. Harry narrows his eyes at Louis' strange antics, but nods, reaching around to take Louis' other hand in his, swinging both of their locked hands a bit. “It is,” he confirms, still looking curiously at Louis, who finally looks back at him, his eyes wide with a little bit of shame. 

“Can we have sex?” he asks. And it’s so blunt, and straightforward, and lacking of any colloquial terms, it kind of throws Harry for a loop. Louis' never asked the question in such a cut and dry manner, and certainly without any sort of lead-in. Harry feels his eyes pop as he takes a step back in shock, blinking rapidly as he tries to get his mouth to form words. Louis looks at him expectantly, as if not realizing how awkward he just made things, and Harry quickly answers, completely flabbergasted. “Um, yeah, sure, okay, if you w-want,” he stutters. He watches in complete disbelief as Louis' eyes light up, and he squeals, clapping his hands together and immediately climbing onto the bed. “Yay!” he cries. 

Harry feels his jaw drop as he tries to catch up with Louis and this strange attitude of his. Something is definitely up, and while Harry is slightly concerned, he can’t hate seeing Louis so happy, and so he decides to just worry about it afterward. He watches Louis for a moment as he settles himself against the headboard, patting his knees as he looks at Harry. They stay staring at each other, before Louis slams his hands down. “Hurry up!” he shouts. Harry’s eyes pop again as he immediately moves forward, crawling onto the bed, toward Louis. Apparently he’s not fast enough though, because Louis reaches for him and yanks him forward by the shirt collar, to where Harry kind of falls flat against his chest. “Off,” Louis says, tugging at Harry’s shirt. Harry carefully sits up, peering at Louis confused, but lifting the shirt up and tossing it to the side anyway. Louis wastes no time settling his hands on Harry’s stomach, running them upwards until his fingers hit his nipples, before stopping. 

Louis has a gleeful little smile on his face as he continues to run his hands up and down Harry’s chest, and while Harry feels his heart rate increase and the blood rush to his crotch, he can’t help but feel a little weird too. He shakes it off though, leaning forward to catch Louis' lips in a kiss, a little shook when Louis responds with a giggle, removing his hands from Harry’s chest to lock around his neck and pull him forward, their lips moving together like a dance. Louis is greedy today, clawing at Harry’s hair, his hands moving up until they’re resting on the top of his head, and suddenly Harry is being pushed down, his mouth ripped from Louis'. “W-what are you doing?!” he cries out, lifting his head so that Louis' hands fall away. Louis furrows his brow, pouting out his lower lip as he lifts his hips to grind against Harry’s. “I want you down there,” he says, except it’s more of a whine than a statement. Harry hesitates a moment, completely out of his element, before raising his eyebrows. “Um, can you maybe ask nicely instead of pushing me?” he asks, his voice firm. 

The reaction from Louis is, at this point, kind of what Harry expected. He immediately presses his lips together, the bottom one pushed out in a pout, and he shakes his head, pushing Harry’s head down once again, but with more force this time. Harry gasps, rolling over onto his back instead of letting Louis continue to push him down. “You disobeyed me, Louis,” he says, looking at Louis with wide, stern eyes. Louis' own eyes dilate as he immediately scrambles to sit on Harry’s lap, his hands resting on Harry’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” he pleads, lightly hitting Harry. Harry raises his eyebrows, locking his fingers around Louis' wrists and pulling his arms together, in a cross hold against his chest. “I think you should make it up to me first,” he states. It takes Louis a minute to decipher his words and their meaning, before his eyes widen and he nods rapidly, already scooting down to settle between Harry’s legs. “Yes, yes, I can do that, just for you, I’ll be good,” he says, nodding his head rapidly as he pushes Harry’s pants down just enough to uncover his completely hard, and throbbing cock. Harry groans as the cold air hits his length, and his mind becomes fogged over with lust as Louis clumsily wraps his fingers around the warm shaft. “Is this all for me, daddy?” he asks, his voice incredulous. Harry blushes at both the nickname and the obscure compliment, before threading his fingers through Louis' hair affectionately. “Yes, all for you,” he replies, breathless. 

Louis' eyes flit up to meet with Harry’s, wide and astounded, before returning to look at Harry’s cock, smiling profusely. “Eeee!” he squeals, before suddenly licking a stripe up the underside of the shaft. Harry lets out a groan, his grip in Louis' hair tightening, especially as Louis continues to lick his cock like a popsicle, moving all around the underside, licking stripes up, leaving glistening trails of saliva in his wake. Harry writhes beneath him, but manages to keep still enough, as Louis moves along to swirling his tongue around the head, humming softly, before dipping his pointed tongue into Harry’s slit, tasting the pre-come that is leaking out. “That’s good!” Louis exclaims, his eyes gaping as he laps his tongue over Harry’s slit again, gathering more pre-come on his tongue and moaning at the taste. Harry is breathless, his neck arched as he screws his eyes shut and pushes his cock further against Louis' lips. Louis, however, is distracted by Harry’s head, running his tongue repeatedly over it, sucking at it like a lolly. 

In desperation, Harry pushes down on Louis' head, trying to get him to take him completely in his mouth. Louis' head snaps up at the movement though, his jaw dropping as he looks up at Harry in disbelief. “You yelled at me for pushing! No pushing!” he cries out, looking utterly offended. Harry’s eyes fly open at the lack of stimulation on his cock, and he’s confused for a moment, before he sees Louis' absolutely heartbroken expression. He sits up quickly, shaking his head as he takes Louis' face in his hands. “You’re right! I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry,” he says. Louis huffs, crossing his arms and pouting again as he looks away, causing Harry’s hands to fall. Harry bites his lip, trying to figure out how to fix the situation. As much as it pains him to do so—having been so close to finishing—he exhales slowly, carefully turning Louis' head to look at him. “How about I make you feel good now?” he suggests. 

Louis' eyes, which are watery, light up in interest, before his forehead crinkles and he shakes his head. “No, you first, daddy,” he says matter-of-factly, nodding once. Before Harry can protest, Louis is shifting back down between his legs and taking his length in his hands again. “I’m a good little, and you’re a good daddy, and you first,” Louis murmurs. Harry scrunches his eyebrows at the statement, settling back against the cushions. “Little?” he mutters to himself, not sure what Louis meant by the word, but instantly distracted as Louis once again laps his tongue over his slit, gathering the pre-come there, before finally giving Harry what he really wants, and sheathing his teeth, going down in increments on his length. “Oh, yes, don’t stop!” Harry begs, his hands threading through Louis' hair again, but being careful not to press down. He sees Louis' eyes flick up to meet his, and for a moment, he catches a glimpse of the normal Louis, with his sultry gaze and slight smirk around his cock, but it quickly disappears as he closes his eyes and begins to bob his head up and down. 

Harry groans as he feels himself quickly approaching his high, glad that this is as far as he and Louis are going to go, because he’s not sure if he could fuck Louis what with him sporting this ‘childlike’ persona for some strange reason. “Just like that, baby, good, good,” Harry pants, barely thrusting up into Louis' mouth, feeling himself hit the back of the sophomore’s throat. Louis giggles around his length, his hand squeezing the base of Harry’s shaft a few times as he continues to deep throat him. Harry feels himself falling over the edge, and when Louis swallows around him, he completes the fall, crying out as he comes, shooting down Louis' throat. Louis' eyes widen as he instantly pulls up, stopping at the head to catch the rest of Harry’s come with his tongue, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he takes all of it. “So good, daddy, mmm,” he says as he licks his lips, cleaning up every last trace. Harry blushes, before sitting up, and reaching for Louis, pulling him so that they are staring at each other. “Your turn now, my good boy?” he asks, out of breath. 

Louis nods his head vigorously, scrambling to switch places with Harry, pulling his shirt off as he rests back against the headboard. “My turn!” he exclaims, face bright with excitement. Harry can’t help but giggle at the sight of it, shifting down to lay between Louis' legs, carefully pushing them apart no matter how much they want to snap back together, and pulling his pants down just enough to uncover his throbbing erection, just like Louis did for him. “All ready for you, daddy, just for you,” Louis says as Harry stares at it. He doesn’t touch it just yet, watching the way it twitches against Louis' stomach for a moment. “Is it pretty enough for daddy?” he hears Louis say, except this time it’s quieter, and a little scared. He lifts his eyes to see that Louis is staring expectantly at him, blushing furiously, his hands locked together and cuddled against his chest. He blinks a few times, not quite able to process the purely innocent pose, before he nods. “Yes, it’s very pretty for—for daddy,” he manages to get the nickname out, even if it sounds weird rolling off of his tongue. 

Louis shrieks, bringing his hands to his mouth as he shakes them a little, like a child would. Harry stares at him for a moment longer, utterly confused, before going back to the task at hand. He loosely wraps his fingers around Louis' length, lifting it up and feeling it twitch in response to his touch. Louis lets out a whimper at the stimulation, but Harry doesn’t look up to see his reaction, instead wasting no time running his hand up and down the shaft a few times, giving it a squeeze at the base. “That feels so good, daddy, so so good,” Louis moans, already trying to thrust up into Harry’s hand. Harry doesn’t respond, instead fluttering his eyes shut as he licks the tip, tasting the salty pre-come and swallowing it quickly, returning back to the tip and suctioning his lips around it, suckling lightly before going further down. 

“Oh daddy, more!” Louis begs, his hands burying themselves in Harry’s hair and pulling. Harry feels a bit of a push, but he isn’t going to punish Louis, because this isn’t BDSM, and he wants Louis to feel as good as possible as quickly as possible. He’s right in that this isn’t BDSM, but he can’t give it another label. He has no idea what it is they’re doing, or rather, what Louis' doing, but he can’t focus on that right now. Right now he can listen to Louis, and oblige. He sinks further down onto Louis' cock, taking about half of him, sucking harshly and pressing his tongue against the sensitive skin. “Yes, good daddy, I like it, Louis likes it,” Louis groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hips squirming. Harry completes the journey, taking all of Louis in his mouth, and just staying their for a minute, moving his tongue and his lips around Louis' base, and swallowing around the head in a way that he knows is pure ecstasy. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna,” Louis says, his voice suddenly its normal tone, and its normal, slightly lower pitch. Harry hadn’t even realized it had risen over the course of their escapade, but now that its back to normal, he realizes how much more he likes it. He begins to suck harder, tilting his head and dragging his mouth back up Louis' length teasingly slow, relishing in the whimpers and moans spilling from his mouth. “Don’t stop, please, d-don’t,” Louis begs, his hands holding Harry’s head in place about halfway on his length. Harry listens, staying there and sucking on Louis' cock like it’s a popsicle, just like Louis had for him. 

Only a few seconds later, Louis groans, and convulses, and Harry tastes every drop of his come that he has to give him, and he swallows every drop, even licking his lips at the end. “Holy fuck, that was amazing,” Louis exclaims, releasing his hands from Harry’s head and falling back against the headboard, gasping for air. Harry sits up, wiping off his mouth and sitting back on his knees as he runs a hand through his hair. “It was but…,” he trails off, until Louis opens his eyes, staring at him curiously. “But babe, what was that?” he asks, shaking his head slightly as he laughs. Louis giggles, pulling his pants up as he crawls closer to Harry, sitting back on his own feet, his knees touching Harry’s. “That, babe, is what happens when I resist the sleepiness provided by too much Benadryl,” he explains. 

“We can also mark caregiver/little off of our list,” 

 

 

*two nights later* 

Louis' birthday is coming up, and Harry has no idea what to do for him. He knows that Louis would be satisfied with just a day spent together and some birthday sex, but Harry wants it to be special. It’s the first time celebrating his birthday as boyfriends—or ever for that matter—and it has the potential to possibly be the last one they celebrate, depending on if their relationship lasts the year. But that’s no way to think, so Harry ignores those more malevolent thoughts and focuses on putting together the best birthday ever for Louis. 

He’s booked a few tables at Louis' favorite Italian restaurant, and invited just a few friends, including Zayn and Niall, along with Liam and Lou, thinking that they will make a nice little group. Plus, it’ll be fun to hang out with his own friends, knowing that they’re getting ready to move as well. Everyone is getting to move away. Everyone except for Louis, and Niall as well. They have to stay behind, finish out high school, two years worth of it. Once again, Harry pushes those thoughts away, closing his laptop and his notebook and deciding that it’s time for him to go to bed now. It’s just after midnight, and he has an early start tomorrow, running errands with his sister. 

He puts his things on his nightstand, before clicking off the lap, and settling down against the pillows and pulling the covers up. He exhales slowly, before closing his eyes and letting the comforting hands of unconsciousness wrap around him. 

When he is pulled from those hands a few hours, he knows that it’s not by choice, and that it is not time for him to rejoin the world of the living. He’s brought back by the sound of his phone ringing, and it’s with blurry eyes and a confused mind that he picks it up, not even able to see the caller ID as he accepts the call. “H-hello?” he says, clearing his throat and hoping he doesn’t too groggy, even though he has a perfectly valid reason to be. 

“Harry? It’s Lottie,” he hears a girl’s voice on the other line, and he immediately sits up, suddenly wide awake. He rubs his eyes with his free hand, before answering, his voice clearer. “Lottie, what’s wrong?” he asks, worry coursing through his veins like the worst type of heroin this side of the Pacific. “It’s, uh…,” Lottie trails off, and Harry starts to feel a little desperate, throwing back the covers and standing up, running a hand through his hair. “Lottie, what’s going on?” he whines. He starts to pull on his shoes despite Lottie not answering, not really caring at this point what is happening, already having made the decision that he’s going to leave.

“It’s Louis, he’s…he needs you,” Lottie replies. Harry feels his blood run like cold water through his veins at Lottie’s words, and he spits out a hasty warning that he’ll be there soon before hanging up the phone and shoving his shoes the rest of the way on. He grabs a jacket and his keys before dashing out of the house, hoping that his parents don’t hear him leaving. He gets into his car, the only thought on his mind being getting to Louis' house as fast as possible. No other thoughts can possibly be more important as he speeds down the highway in the direction of the Tomlinsons. He can only think about Louis, about being there with him, about making sure he’s okay. He doesn’t know if he’s having another episode, or if it’s something bigger. Based on what Niall said, Louis suffers from these episodes frequently—something that Harry wishes he had known about a long time ago—but that certainly means that Louis' siblings know what to do to deal with them. 

That answers his question. 

He arrives to Louis' house in record time, and slams the car door as he quite literally runs up to the front door. Lottie must have heard him, because the door flies open before he can bang his fist against it, and he immediately registers Lottie’s pale, terrified expression. “Where is he?” he asks as he pushes inside, already heading for the stairs. “Up in his r-room,” Lottie says. Harry nods as he starts up the stairs, Lottie following after him. “He got into a really bad fight with our parents, and he’s locked himself in,” she explains. Harry feels his heart speed up at the information, and runs across the catwalk, coming to a jolted stop in front of Louis' door, pausing for a moment to gather himself. Lottie lingers behind a bit, watching as Harry lifts a hand and gently knocks on Louis' door. 

“Louis, it’s me,” he says quietly. He waits for a response, chewing on his lower lip. He hopes that Louis isn’t too upset even for him, but he doesn’t have time to mull over that for long, because Louis does open his door. Harry is for some reason expecting either a desperate hug or tear streaks or something, but instead, he just sees a look of confusion on Louis' face, which in turn makes him confused. “Harry? What are you doing here? It’s so late,” he says, his eyes falling to look at Harry completely, a little laugh escaping his lips, completely throwing him off guard. “Babe, you’re in pajamas, did she wake you up?” he says, giggly. 

Harry’s jaw drops a little, before he shares a glance with Lottie, who mirrors his look, shrugging her shoulders. Harry turns his gaze back to Louis, trying to figure out what to say. For some reason, this nonchalantness isn’t comforting, it’s more concerning, like Louis is hiding what he’s really feeling. “Louis, Lottie said that you got into an argument with your parents?” he prompts, raising his eyebrows. He sees a flash of fear in Louis' eyes, before he’s rolling them, turning around and shaking his head a little. “She’s overreacting, it’s fine,” he says. Harry looks once more at Lottie, before following Louis into his room and quietly shutting the door behind him. “Louis, love, she called me, I don’t think she’d do that if it wasn’t serious,” he tries to reason. 

Louis groans, running a hand through his curls as he shakes his head again, turning around to sit on his bed. “It really isn’t that big of a deal, we fight all of the time,” he explains, lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s. They’re exceptionally blue at this time of the night, and glowing almost. Harry hesitates, before padding up to Louis and stopping in front of him, putting his hands gently under his jaw and tilting his head upward to look at him. The moonlight highlights his cheekbones and makes him look much older at this angle, and Harry kind of finds himself getting a little lost in his beauty before he speaks. “What did you fight about?” he asks quietly. Louis looks up at a moment, his lashes fluttering before he sighs, turning his head away. “Nothing important,” he mutters. 

Harry feels a sudden surge of anger at Louis' once again avoidance of talking about his parents. He has respected his boundaries and not asked any questions about anything, but he’s found himself getting kind of sick and tired of just waiting for Louis to tell him. And it’s also three in the morning, and he isn’t in his right state of mind, and so it kind of just happens. He clenches his hands into fists, and narrows his eyes as he raises his voice, loud enough to probably wake anyone in the house. “What is the fucking deal between you and your parents?!” he shouts, taking a step back to glare at Louis. Louis' eyes snap up to meet Harry’s, wide and shocked, and he drops his jaw at Harry’s words. Harry raises his eyebrows, holding open his hands, waiting for an answer. 

Louis stands up slowly, his eyes suddenly sad, and he shakes his head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he murmurs. Harry only groans, squeezing his eyes shut as he presses his hands against his forehead, speaking into his palms. “I already am worrying about it Louis, so just fucking tell me,” he says, his voice cold and demanding. When he lets his hands fall away he sees Louis staring at him, his eyes glistening with moisture, and a defeated look on his face. He almost feels bad, but not really, because if a little harshness is what it takes to get Louis to just reveal this final missing piece of the puzzle, he’ll be harsh. It’s working, after all. 

“Come here,” he says quietly. Louis' gaze turns confused for a minute, before he shuffles forward, coming to a stop about a foot away from Harry. Harry reaches out and takes Louis' hand, lifting it and intertwining their fingers to where Louis can see. Louis watches them fall together, before looking at Harry, confusion still laced through his irises. “Louis,” Harry says gently. “I love you, and you don’t have to be afraid to talk to me,” Louis immediately bites his lower lip at that, holding Harry’s hand tighter and stepping closer, nodding. Harry studies his eyes for a moment, before lifting his other hand to brush Louis' curls to the side. 

Louis locks gazes with the older boy, taking a deep breath before he lets his eyes flutter shut. “My parents,” he begins. “They think that I made up my rape as…as justification for my reckless behavior,” He squeezes his eyes shut tighter then, lilting a little as the tears finally escape, and he falls against Harry, his head turning to face away from Harry’s neck, his cheek on his shoulder. It takes Harry a minute to fully get what Louis is saying, but when he does, he is filled with such an immense hatred for Louis' parents that it’s like a fire in him, and he can’t do anything to put it out. All he can do in this moment his wrap his arms around Louis, and hug him, hug him like he may lose him, and channel that anger into comforting Louis instead. 

Louis weeps against Harry, clutching him like he’s drowning and Harry is his lifeline. Harry can’t even begin to understand how Louis' parents think that, how they stand by that belief, how they truly think Louis could ever make up something as awful as that. Crying rape is a horrendous thing to do, but to accuse someone of doing it as an excuse when it is not a lie in the first place is just as bad. Niall was right, Louis is more broken than he appears. Harry just hopes that he can put his pieces back together. And if he can’t, he hopes that he can carry them for Louis. He’ll carry all of his broken pieces of that’s what it takes. 

“I love you,” he whispers, knowing that that is all he really needs to say at this time. Louis sniffles a bit, leaning back and putting his hands on either side of Harry’s face, and running his thumbs over his cheekbones. “I love you too,” he whispers, before closing the gap and kissing Harry softly. Harry puts his hands on Louis' waist and holds him close as he kisses him back, moving his lips with Louis', soft and sweet. Unconsciously, almost, they both move backwards towards Louis' bed, Louis falling to sit on it and crawl back as Harry follows, their hands and mouths staying attached. They keep the kiss slow, Harry licking Louis' lower lip to ask permission to introduce tongue, and when Louis parts his lips, Harry slips his tongue inside, letting it dance with Louis', tilting his head for better access. 

Louis lays down slowly, pulling Harry with him. Harry hovers over Louis, careful not to settle his weight on the smaller boy, supporting himself with his palms flat against the mattress. Louis moves his hands to thread through Harry’s hair, and still, the kiss is slow. It actually gets even slower, to the point where their lips are kind of just resting against each other, and every now and then one of them will lightly add some pressure, but then pull away. They’re just enjoying each other’s presence and closeness, letting their energies wrap around them like blankets and keep them safe. “Please stay,” Louis whispers, his lips brushing over Harry’s with every letter. Harry nods carefully, kissing Louis in response once, before gently rolling over to lay on his side. 

He wastes no time adjusting Louis to where he too is on his side, and then pulls him flush back against him, to where they’re spooning. His chest is pressed against Louis' back, and he rests his chin barely on the edge of Louis' shoulder, looping his arm around Louis' waist to keep him close. Louis rests his own hand on top of Harry’s, before reaching up with his other hand to loosely link fingers with Harry’s other arm, sighing as he sinks further against Harry. Harry presses a kiss to Louis' shoulder blade, before his eyes flutter shut in accordance. Louis sighs once more, before closing his eyes as well, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. 

 

 

*smut warning*

Harry assumes they're just going to fall asleep, since it is three in the morning and Louis' entire family is asleep in the house, and Louis isn't the most lustful of moods, but. Harry underestimates the circumstances, and so when Louis just barely pushes his ass back against Harry's crutch, Harry hears his own breath catch in his throat. He doesn't reciprocate anything, unsure if the action was intentional or not, but when Louis repeats it, and slides Harry's hands up to where they're resting against his stomach,   
Harry knows that this is all very intentional.

He debates asking Louis if he really wants this, if this is the right thing to do, but he decides against asking. Louis knows what he wants, he's always known what he wants, and if this will make him feel better, feel safer, then Harry can give this to him. And so he presses his lips to the small divot below Louis' ear, and rolls his own hips back against Louis' ass. He opens his eyes briefly just to check on Louis, and he quickly closes them again once he sees that his are closed, his mouth slightly parted.

He continues kissing under Louis' ear as he lets Louis sensually grind back against his crotch, the stimulation causing Harry's cock to slowly harden through his pajamas. He gently sucks the lobe of Louis' ear into his mouth, suckling lightly and feeling a surge of warmth at the soft whimpers escaping Louis' mouth. His hands are still pressed against his stomach, which is rising and falling at a relatively moderate pace, but he moves them then, one staying clasped under both of Louis'.

He uses the free hand to travel slowly down his navel, slipping it past the elastic bands of his pajama pants and boxers, before settling like a feather over his partially-erect cock. Louis whimpers a little bit louder at the touch, and immediately rolls his hips into Harry's hand. Harry lets him do what's natural for his body while gently running his palm up and down his cock, feeling his own throb painfully in his pants.

He continues to massage Louis' arousal with his hand as Louis rubs himself against it, and Harry steals a glance to his face. He feels a wave of affection wash over him as he sees that Louis' eyes are still lightly shut, lashes resting gently in place, his lips parted, little gasps of breath escaping them. He looks angelic almost, and Harry resumes kissing at his neck as he continues to move his hand against Louis. With each roll of Louis' hips, they roll back onto Harry’s cock, and it doesn’t take long for Harry to feel himself completely harden, and then it’s just frustrating past that, not quite gaining the friction he needs, but also not wanting to speed things up at all, much preferring this slow, affectionate pacing. 

He’s kind of stuck figuring out what to do next, when Louis suddenly takes Harry’s other hand and brings it to his mouth. He kisses the fingertips first, all five of them, making Harry’s heart flutter with warmth and a little bit of excitement. Louis' eyes open as he slips two of Harry’s fingers past his lips, immediately slicking them up with his saliva, swirling his tongue over them before sucking on them gently. He finds Harry’s eyes, blue to green, two separate oceans colliding and mixing into one, and Harry finds himself locked in the gaze, unable to look away even if he wanted to. He can see the tendrils of lust mixed in with the overall calm glossiness of his irises, and when he moves his hand, those tendrils become a little clearer. He relishes in the feeling of Louis' tongue against his fingers, especially as he slips a third finger into his mouth, sucking on them like pacifiers, staring contently up at Harry, like he’s a piece of art, or something. 

Harry knows the destination of his fingers once Louis slips them back out, lingering for a moment on the tips, letting them rest between his lips for a few seconds as he stares at Harry. Harry stares right back, realizing he’s halted the movements of his other hand, and quickly resuming them, palming Louis and watching as the lust shadows his eyes over and he lets out a little moan, finally releasing Harry’s fingers. Harry immediately takes the wetted digits, and slips them past the backside of Louis' pajama pants, settling on his ass. Due to the angle, he has to push between his cheeks, but he does so slowly, kneading them really. It’s quite an awkward positioning, and so it’s with reluctance that he chooses to retract his hand from Louis' length to grip his hip instead, keeping him still while circles his entrance with a slick finger. 

“Touch yourself,” he whispers in Louis' ear, kissing the lobe once before pushing a single finger inside of Louis' ass. Louis lets out a rather loud groan at the intrusion, clenching around the finger as he nods, replacing Harry’s hand with his own, being far less gentle, running a tight fist over his throbbing length. “Shh, baby, shh,” Harry breathes, pumping his finger a few times before sliding another in next to it. Louis bites down on his lower lip as he nods again, quieting to whimpers and little pants of breath that really only Harry can hear. Harry continues prepping Louis, thrusting his fingers a little harder into Louis, adding the final finger a few seconds later, feeling the blood rush to his already throbbing cock at Louis' ruined moan due to the stretch. 

He can hear the obscene sound of skin against skin as Louis speeds up his wrist movements, arching his back slightly so that his ass presses down further onto Harry’s fingers. He bites down on his lip, clenching his eyes shut as he exhales loudly through his nose, his hair tickling Harry’s eyes. Harry suctions his lips around Louis' exposed neck, sucking at the sensitive skin, lashing his tongue over it. He applies the hickey as he slows the thrusts of his fingers, using it as a distraction as he pulls his hands away, and releases his grip on Louis' hip. Almost immediately Louis presses his ass back against Harry’s cock, desperate, which causes Harry to giggle against his neck. He puckers his lips to kiss the now angrily red skin, before quickly pushing his pajama pants down, his cock springing free at last. “Harry…please,” Louis whines, his eyes still squeezed shut as he rolls his ass back against nothing, as Harry as leaned away slightly. 

Harry chuckles at Louis' impatience and the fact that he’s just tired enough to not try anything he usually would to get him to speed up. He quickly spits into his own hand, before running it a few times over his length, biting his lip as he tries not to make too much noise at the sensation. He makes sure he’s slick enough that he can almost see his own reflection, before finally shifting back closer to Louis, and letting his tip brush over Louis' cheeks. He pushes one arm underneath Louis' torso, under his armpit really, slipping under and bending around to rest against his chest, pulling him so that his back rests against Harry’s chest. At that movement, he pushes his cock between Louis' cheeks, and easily breaches his hole with the tip, hesitating to let Louis adjust a bit before moving any further. Louis' arm that is pressed against the mattress suddenly moves to rest on top of Harry’s that is pressed against his chest, and their hands find each other, fingers intertwining. Louis grips Harry’s hand so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and Harry uses his other arm to grip Louis' hip once again. 

He rolls his hips once, and feels himself sink completely inside of Louis, letting out a low growl at the sensation of being surrounded by that tight warmth once again. Louis clenches and releases around his length a few times, which doesn’t do anything in keeping Harry at bay. If he wants to last any amount of time Louis is going to have to stop doing that. In an effort to achieve that, Harry pulls out slowly, before sliding back in, his eyes rolling back into his head as he feels Louis' muscles slide around his length. Louis lets out a long moan, squeezing Harry’s hand as he adjusts his head so that his cheek is pressed up against Harry’s, and in this moment, they are closer than ever. It’s a wholly intimate moment, the emotions cascading over them almost more overwhelming than the physical sensations they’re feeling. 

Harry gently sinks back inside of Louis, his heart thudding against his chest as he runs his hand up and down the smooth skin of Louis' thigh, just wanting to feel as much of him as possible. In a spark of ingenuity, Harry loops his arm under Louis' knee, and suddenly lifts his leg, giving him a better angle to work with and better access to that spot inside of Louis that Harry knows drives him insane. He adjusts his arm so that his elbow is supported by his own leg, and he can easily hold Louis' up, thrusting back into him again to see what it feels like. It feels different, freer almost, and about a thousand times better if that’s even possible. Louis must reciprocate the feeling, because he lets out a yelp that has Harry looking over his shoulder and Louis' eyes widening as he snaps his mouth shut. They both halt their movements before a moment, before apparently Louis is satisfied that nobody heard them, and pushes back against Harry’s cock, burying him to the hilt. 

Harry chuckles, giving Louis' hand a squeeze, before kissing his neck and picking up a slow pace of thrusts, taking his time sliding in and out, feeling everything that he possibly can. He moves his and Louis' locked hands up Louis' chest to where it’s resting over his heart, and he can feel it beating against his palm. It’s fast, and desperate, and he knows that Louis is getting close. He speeds his thrusts up just a little bit, hitching Louis' leg back up and driving straight into that bundle of nerves that has Louis clenching Harry’s hand so tightly it starts to lose feeling, and the gasps that leave his mouth are more and closer between, and soon begin to form words. “Please…don’t stop, don’t s-stop,” he pants, suddenly turning his head to look Harry in the eyes. They’re dark as midnight, pupils blown out, two of the most gorgeous things that Harry has ever seen, and he feels himself suddenly a lot closer now that he’s looking into the eyes of someone who loves him. 

“Kiss me,” Louis breathes, his face crumpling as Harry continues to drive into him, his hips jerking a little more erratically now that he’s approaching his high as well. He gives Louis what he wants—of course he does—and carefully attaches his lips against his softer ones, barely adding any pressure at first. Louis initiates that, lifting his head to intensify the kiss, letting their lips slot together, parting slightly as Louis brings his teeth gently down onto Harry’s bottom lip, sucking it just so. Harry slips his tongue out to meet with Louis', his hips slowing as the kiss grows a little more heated, their tongues sliding against each other, not quite fighting for dominance, just tasting each other. 

Harry can feel Louis tightening and loosening around him, and he knows that it’s only seconds now until he’s coming, and he’s about to lower Louis' leg to reach around and milk him through it, but before he gets a chance, Louis suddenly stops kissing him, and instead gasps, using his free hand to fly around and grab at Harry’s hair, eyes screwed shut as he comes over his chest, without even the stimulation of Harry’s hand or his own. It’s impressive, Harry has to admit. “H-Harry!” Louis manages to say towards the end, his iron grip on Harry’s hair loosening as he relaxes, turning away and gasping as he catches his breath, his grip on Harry’s hand loosening as well. Now it’s Harry’s turn, and like always, he doesn’t take long. 

Louis' muscles are still twitching around him, and he knows it’s just a few more strokes and he’ll be coming too. It certainly doesn’t help when Louis starts whispering in his ear, reaching down between his legs to fondle Harry’s balls as they pass his fingers. “Come for me, baby,” he breathes. Harry groans, his eyes falling shut of their own accord as the lust pools in his stomach and his mind becomes foggy with sex, and suddenly he’s coming, coming inside of Louis, filling him with that warmth. His legs shake with the intensity of it, and he has to release Louis' leg, bringing the arm around to pull Louis back against him as far as he can go, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the air for a moment. “Shit,” Harry says, resting his forehead on Louis' shoulder, gasping. 

Louis chuckles lightly, tilting his head to kiss Harry’s cheek. “I love you,” he says. Harry flushes, chest rising and falling rapidly as he suddenly props himself up to look down at Louis. “I love you more,” 

 

 

When they wake up, it’s not naturally. They’re both awoken by movement downstairs, and loud movements at that. Harry’s eyes fly open at the same time as Louis', and his arms instinctively tighten around the smaller boy, who now lying on his stomach, with his head resting on Harry’s chest. Their eyes meet, before Harry looks towards the door. It’s with a jolt that he remembers where he is, that he’s not at his house, where his parents barging in wouldn’t be as big of a deal. Embarrassing, sure, but not incriminating. But they’re at Louis' house, and his parents are unaware of Harry’s presence, and perhaps of even Harry himself—though he won’t go so far as to say that. He doesn’t hear noises getting louder, however, so he hopes that they’re just staying downstairs, which is still kind of a problem. He can’t just hide up in Louis' room forever, he’s going to have to leave at some point. Not that he doesn’t mind staying in bed until Louis' parents leave, but it is a Saturday, which means that he could very well be waiting for quite some time. 

“Um, what should we do?” Harry asks, his voice gruff from sleeping. Louis stares at him for a moment longer, before sitting up, groaning at the uncomfortable stretch. He squeezes his eyes shut as he rubs them, before letting his hands drag down his bare chest. “I say we just wait until they leave, I’m sure they have something planned,” he mutters, his brow crinkling as he absentmindedly pokes at the hickey left on his neck from last night. Harry nods, before sitting up too, and kissing Louis' upper arm. “I don’t mind being lazy,” he replies, smiling as he slumps back, his arms behind him to support him. He doesn’t miss Louis' eyes flicking down to rake over his exposed chest, before he lifts his eyes back to meet Harry’s, smiling as he rolls his eyes. “Of course you don’t mind being lazy,” he teases, as he shuffles off of the bed, standing up and stretching some more. 

Harry admires the nice view of Louis' body, before he walks towards his door, stopping as he puts his hand on the knob. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to just let them know that I’m choosing to be depressed today and staying in my room,” he explains, before slipping out quietly. Harry nods to the empty room, yawning as he sits there for a moment. His mind isn’t quite fully functional, the only things he can really think about being how nice it’ll be to just cuddle with Louis all day, even if it’s because he’s evading his parents in their own home. He licks his dry lips unconsciously, and is reminded of the fact that it’s morning, and he hasn’t brushed his teeth, so he gets up slowly, stretching as well, walking into Louis' bathroom. 

He sees his toothbrush, along with his various hair products and such, and he debates looking in the cabinets to see if he has an unopened toothbrush somewhere, when he realizes that Louis is his boyfriend, and they’ve swapped a lot worse than saliva. With that kind of disgusting thought, he grabs the toothbrush, and runs water over it, opening one of Louis' drawers to find toothpaste. He feels kind of strange just going through his things, even if it just your typical bathroom things, but it’s like some sort of invasion of privacy. He’s pretty positive Louis won’t mind, but he quickly brushes his teeth and cleans up after himself after that, putting everything back where he found it. 

However, as he’s returning the toothpaste to its drawer, he sees a glimmer of light, and his brow furrows as his curiosity gets the best of him. He puts the toothpaste back where it goes, before pushing some combs and chapstick tubes out of the way to find the source of reflection. His eyes widen as he finally sees what it is. Or rather, what they are. They’re razors, but like the individual blades that you insert into a razor. Rectangular, and shiny silver. Now, there’s a chance that they’re just spare blades for one of Louis' razors, but the bad feeling the pit of Harry’s stomach convinces him otherwise. He picks one of them up, bringing it closer to his eyes, trying to see any evidence that they were used for something other than shaving. 

As he’s looking though, he hears footsteps bounding the stairs, and he quickly panics, putting the blade haphazardly back in the drawer, before shutting it and looking in the mirror, acting as if he had been fixing his hair. “Haz?” he hears Louis call out, his mouth tipping up in a smile at the quiet, almost nervous tone of his voice. “Bathroom,” he replies, and it’s a few seconds later that Louis appears behind him, stepping up behind him and looping his arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder blade. “What are you doing in here?” he mumbles, resting his chin on his shoulder. Harry smiles with all of his teeth as he reaches behind him to pull Louis closer against him. “I had to brush my teeth,” he answers. Louis raises his eyebrows at that, before he releases Harry, and reaches past him to pluck his toothbrush off of the counter. “With my toothbrush?” he asks. 

Harry blushes, before stepping aside to let Louis have access to the sink, as he shrugs his shoulders. “Is it really that big of a deal?” he replies. Louis blinks a few times, before giggling and shaking his head, turning on the water and wetting the brush again, presumably to brush his own teeth. “You’re right,” he says. Harry watches, trying to keep his face relatively blank, when in actuality he’s scanning his eyes over every inch of exposed skin on Louis. He eyes his wrists particularly hard, but he can’t see any lines, no scars, nothing, just smooth skin and the faint purple and green of his veins. As he continues to look, he can’t see any traces of any lacerations, not on his hipbones, nowhere that he thinks he would typically find self-harm scars. There are his thighs, he supposes, but he can’t exactly discretely look at them, and he’s always too distracted to notice anything in any sexual situation. 

He supposes he could just ask, but again, it feels like such an invasion of privacy. If Louis wanted him to know, he would know already. Or maybe Louis does want him to know, and just hasn’t gotten around to telling him. Isn’t that how it went with his rape? Maybe Harry should just ask him. The worst thing he can say is he doesn’t want to talk about it, and Harry would respect that. 

He must have not maintained his blank expression, because Louis picks up on a shift, and he looks over at Harry as he spits into the sink. “Something on your mind?” he asks, his voice a little curious, but not worried. Yet. Harry blinks rapidly, blushing as he shakes his head at first, before taking a deep breath, and looking seriously at Louis. He watches as Louis' brow scrunches in confusion now, and his eyes follow Harry as he walks behind him, stopping on his right side, and sliding open the drawer containing the blades. He looks at Louis, whose eyes dart down to the drawer, before the color drains from his cheeks and he quickly wipes his mouth with a towel. 

“I haven’t…I haven’t in a long time, I promise,” he whispers, ashamed. Harry keeps his face smooth, because he’s not judging Louis. Of course he’s not going to judge him, nor would he judge anyone who cuts. He can’t say he’s ever been there before, but he’s certainly considered it, and he knows that for some people, it’s really the only thing they have to turn to. And so he carefully pushes the drawer shut, and takes Louis' hands in his own, running his thumbs over the soft skin of his knuckles. “How long is a long time?” he replies quietly, looking at Louis calmly. Louis flushes then, the color returning to his cheeks almost as quickly as it had left. 

Harry is a little confused as to the sudden switch in expression, and the tightening of Louis' grip on his hands, but he doesn’t raise his concerns, giving Louis time to answer the question. “Um,” he begins, his eyes darting away. “Since we, uh, started dating…,” His voice is barely audible towards the end of the sentence, embarrassed for some strange reason. Harry doesn’t know the reason, because to be completely honest, the confession kind of makes his heart thump harder in his ribcage. Louis stopped cutting because of him. Okay, maybe not because of him completely but…okay no, because of him. They started dating, and Louis found the strength to stop. Harry doesn’t know what it is he did, or if he did anything at all, but he’s glad. And he’s flattered. 

And how is he supposed to leave Louis now? How is he supposed to go across the country to Princeton—which is in New Jersey, he’ll point out—and have Louis stay here? Now knowing the impact he’s had on him, now knowing the role he plays in his life, and on the flip side, the role that Louis plays in Harry’s life, how can they possibly leave each other? 

He doesn’t realize Louis is crying until he feels something wet drip onto his hands. He stares at the little droplets for a minute, before feeling his own chest contract, and he lifts his head to meet Louis' watery blue eyes. When they’re like this, swimming in tears, they resemble ocean that much more. They’re so shiny Harry can quite literally see his reflection in them, but he can’t focus on it. Not when there’s that much anguish in those pools. He carefully removes one of his hands from Louis' only to reach up and wipe a tear away, letting his hand settle on his cheek, his thumb lightly stroking his prominent cheekbone. “I’m sorry, I know it’s disgusting,” Louis whispers, his voice agonized. Harry instantly shakes his head, holding Louis' face in his hand more firmly as he steps closer, guiding Louis' hand to rest on his waist, before winding his own arm around Louis' waist, locking him in place against him. 

He quickly presses his lips to Louis' once, just a gentle little reassuring kiss, before pulling away to catch his eyes again. Once he does, he settles his gaze into a sympathetic, loving one. “Don’t apologize, Louis, you don’t have to,” he says quietly, searching Louis' face to make sure he understands. He detects a lot of uncertainty at first, before he finally picks up on some slight acceptance, and a nod. Louis blinks, causing a few more tears to roll like heavy raindrops down his cheeks, a few staining Harry’s hand, but Harry is quick to comfort, leaning in to properly kiss Louis again, their lips molding together. Harry lightly sucks Louis' lower lip between his, tasting him as Louis stumbles forward a bit, his arms wrapping around Harry’s neck, their lips continuing to dance together. 

It’s right as they’re getting a little heated that the door into Louis' room bursts open. Almost immediately, Harry’s eyes fly open as he pulls away from Louis, falling back a few paces, Louis—still latched onto him—falling with him. Harry’s eyes immediately go to the source of the intrusion, and he feels his cheeks heat up and a sudden surge of anger course through him as he makes eye contact with the two people who have to be Louis' parents. 

 

The first thing Harry registers is how Louis has his mother’s eyes. But his aren’t ever this shocked, or this disgusted. Louis' eyes are soft, tender, lacking that edge that Harry sees in his mother’s. The second thing that he registers is Louis turning around and standing in front of Harry, one arm reaching around to keep Harry behind him. He doesn’t feel fearful for himself, more so for Louis, because he can see how pale Louis has gotten, and how he’s trembling slightly. And even though he’s protecting Harry, Harry wants so badly to reverse the positions, to stand in between him and his parents, to take the heat, just so Louis doesn’t have to. 

Louis isn’t any taller than Harry, so Harry is able to see his parents just fine over his shoulder, and the looks on their faces are looks that he hasn’t ever seen before, but that strike shame in his heart. As if he’s doing something mortally wrong, as if he’s spat in the actual face of God, and how dare he show his face to two people who have done him no wrong. But he doesn’t deserve the looks, he’s never met Louis' parents once, so any negative predisposition they have towards him is based purely on homophobic beliefs. Louis never said that they were homophobic, but Harry supposes it was kind of implied in the whole ‘made up rape’ belief that they carry. Any excuse to deny that their son was actually hurt, and by a man at that. 

“Who is this?” his mother asks, her voice quiet. Her eyes flick to meet with Harry’s, but quickly dart away as she realizes that he was already looking at her. As if she’s afraid of him or something, or she’s so disgusted that she can’t even hold eye contact. For the first time experiencing homophobia, Harry is decidedly okay with not ever experiencing it ever again. To have someone who doesn’t even know him look at him like he’s the actual antichrist, it’s definitely disheartening, if not just plain hurtful. Louis takes a deep breath, pushing Harry behind him some more, his fingers wrapping around Harry’s wrist tightly. “This is my boyfriend, mum, and his name is Harry,” he says harshly, his voice cold. Harry sees Louis' father’s eyes narrow and his mother gasp, paling as she immediately shakes her head. “Y-your friend needs to leave,” she whispers. 

Louis groans, rolling his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, which is kind of scaring Harry, because the last thing he wants is for Louis to get into an argument with his parents with him present, or really at all. He’s afraid something bad is going to happen, he can feel it like electricity in the air. Before Louis can say anything, however, his father cuts him off, his voice low and terrifying. “You are not gay, Louis,” he growls. Harry’s jaw drops at that, and he instantly wants to protect Louis, wants to stand in front of him while telling his father what an absolutely awful person he is, and how Louis can be whatever he wants to be, and he has no say in it. He almost does it too, drifting to Louis' side, to where he’s fully visibly and can properly glare at his parents. 

Louis doesn’t really notice, sighing as he runs his other hand through his hair, exasperated and exhausted it appears. “Yes, I am, Mark, and I’m sorry that that upsets you, but it’s never going to change,” he says, his voice tired, like he’s had to say this many times. This is a whole lot worse than Louis let on, his relationship with his parents. But then again, isn’t that what Niall alluded to? He’s a lot more broken than he appears? Harry assumes he’s just now getting to fully see what he meant by that. He watches as Louis' father—stepfather—presses his lips into a tight line, his face flushing red with anger. He feels Louis' hand tighten around his wrist as his father suddenly steps forward, fuming. Harry’s eyes widen as he makes to push Louis back, but before he can, Louis' father suddenly snaps his glare to be directed at Harry himself, and before Harry can fully realize what’s happening, he’s being slapped so hard he falls to the ground. He hears a lot of shouting, but he can’t really understand what’s being said. 

He’s seeing stars, his vision blurring as his cheek pulses into his hand, the pain blinding. He blindly presses his hand against the reddening skin, feeling something warm like blood against his fingers. He uses his other arm to keep from just falling onto the floor completely, and he feels another set of hands on him, helping lift him. “Get out of my house! You’re not welcome here!” he hears Louis' father boom. He can’t completely process the words though, his eyes watering with tears as the pain suddenly spikes and he lets out a quiet whimper. He’s being pathetic, he knows that, but Louis' father is strong, and that slap was motivated by anger, and he wanted it to hurt. And it does. He succeeded there. 

“I’ve never been welcome here,” Louis spits, looping his arms under Harry’s, and gently pulling him up. “Come on, love, it’s okay,” he says, quieter and softer. Harry stands up a little bit shaky, wrapping an arm around Louis' shoulders and letting him support him as they walk out of the room, pushing roughly past Louis' parents. Harry is slowly regaining his sight as he blinks away the tears, and the first thing he sees are Lottie and Fizzy standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking heartbroken and slightly angry. “Louis…,” Lottie whispers, but Louis just gives a small shake of his head, brushing past her and Fizzy, and opening the front door. The colder air feels good on Harry’s cheek, and he’s able to take a deep breath, blinking back the last of the tears. 

“Your stepdad has a wicked right swing,” he mutters as Louis opens the passenger side door to Harry’s car, and gently sits him down, shutting the door and running around to climb into the driver’s seat. Harry leans against the seat, pulling the seatbelt around and buckling himself in. “Look at me,” Louis says quietly, his hands reaching over to tenderly turn Harry’s face to examine his cheek. He watches Louis while he runs his fingers over his pulsing cheek, watches the concern in his eyes slowly fade to sorrow, a thin line of shimmery tears appearing on his waterline. “Harry, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

Harry shakes his head, turning his head to kiss Louis' hand, before taking it in his own and giving it a squeeze. “Do not apologize for your parents,” he says. Louis takes a deep breath, before nodding and sliding back into the driver’s seat, burying his head in his hands. “What am I going to do, Harry? I just got kicked out,” he cries, his voice broken. Harry feels his heart breaking for his boyfriend, and he reaches across the console to rest his hand on his knee, rubbing comforting circles into the denim. “You’re going to stay with me,” he answers, knowing that it’s the only solution. Louis has nowhere else to go that Harry knows of, and Harry’s parents would be more than welcoming, after hearing the situation. Louis lifts his head to reveal his red, puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. “Harry, I can’t ask that of you,” he whispers. 

Harry laughs quietly, smiling a bit even though it hurts his cheek. “It’s a good thing you aren’t asking then,” he replies, before reaching back over into his pocket and handing Louis the car keys. Louis accepts them, but hesitates on starting the car, staring over at Harry instead. Harry looks back, getting lost in those galaxies again, before Louis speaks, and he’s jolted back to this universe. “I love you so much, Harry Styles,” he says, voice barely audible. Harry feels himself blush as the weight of those words hit him again, and he is at a loss for words. He can say any number of things in response, but he settles on just one. 

“I love you more, Louis Tomlinson,” 

 

 

“Don’t s-stop!” Louis hisses, grabbing at Harry’s hair, holding him in place on his length. Harry laughs around it, letting Louis manipulate him the way he likes. It’s late at night, but Harry and Louis aren’t at Harry’s house. They’re outside of it, parked on the far side of driveway, a blind spot to the windows of the house. They weren’t planning on fooling around, but seeing as Louis is basically living with the Styles’s now, it’s a little difficult for them to get away with anything. So this is how they do it, in the dead of night, after a movie or dinner or some sort of outing. 

It’s juvenile, but isn’t that appropriate? They are just teenagers after all. Harry is pretty positive that his family has an idea of what keeps them out so late, but they keep their mouths shut and for that he’s grateful. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they teased him about his and Louis' sex lives. Probably die of embarrassment. 

Harry takes his time tonight, teasing Louis, dragging out his high for as long as he can. He’s already had his turn, he’s satisfied and relaxed, meaning that he’s not wanting to rush anything. He lets his hands roam Louis' bare thighs, caressing the soft skin and feeling it heat up under his touch. He takes deep breaths through his nose as he deep throats, swallowing once around the head. Louis lets out a particularly loud moan at that, yanking Harry’s head up, his slick length hitting the cool air of the car. Harry sucks in deep breaths, licking the pre-come off of his lips, lifting his eyes to meet with Louis' black ones. Pupils blown out, lust-filled, gorgeous. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks flushed, and Harry could get off just by staring at him. 

He maintains eye contact as he tilts his head to take Louis' cock in his mouth, wrapping his lips just around the head at first, straightening his neck and suckling lightly, his hands continuing to explore the expanse of pale skin that are Louis' thighs. “Oh, Harry, please!” Louis whimpers, his head moving from left to right as he tries thrusting up into Harry’s mouth. But Harry doesn’t allow him to, pinning his hips down with his hands as he continues to gently suck on Louis' head, dipping a pointed tongue into his slit. “Fuck, baby,” he moans, his voice seductive as all hell. He rolls his hips—the most he can do—which gets Harry’s lips to slip just a little bit further down his length.

Harry chuckles in response, deciding to have a little bit of mercy on the poor kid, and bobbing his head slightly, moving in increments down his throbbing length. He’s leaking a lot of salty pre-come into Harry’s mouth, and Harry can tell it won’t take long until he’s coming completely. He isn’t sure if he’s quite ready for that personally, but he knows how much he hates being denied his own orgasm, and Louis has not had it easy lately, so he figures the least he can do is give him the simpler pleasures in life. He reaches his arms just a little more to grab Louis' hands, intertwining their fingers together as he begins to truly move his mouth up and down his cock, dragging his tongue against the shaft as he goes, the way he knows Louis likes it. 

Louis grips Harry’s hands tightly as he squeezes his eyes shut, lifting his hips to thrust up into Harry’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat. His mouth is open is pant, a shiny sheen of sweat coating his facial features, and the car windows are steamy from his labored breathing. “Oh, fuck, Harry,” he gasps, his voice sounding like sex and making Harry’s eyes darken with lust. He speeds up his movements, sucking a little harder as Louis' breath becomes more uneven and he clenches and unclenches his hands in Harry’s, thrashing a bit above him. 

He comes shortly after that, hands tightening in Harry’s so tightly he’s going to have bruised palms, spilling down Harry’s throat. Harry swallows it, continuing to bob his head up and down, staying mostly completely down on him, making sure that he catches everything. When he can no longer feel warmth against his throat, he swallows once more, before slowly sliding up, licking his head clean, swirling his tongue over it. “Jesus, Harry,” Louis breathes, watching Harry as he finally sits back against the dash, wiping his mouth lazily. He chuckles, smiling up at Louis, who pulls his pants up and zips them, running a hand through his hair. He stays sitting for a minute, catching his breath and just staring at the older boy’s green eyes. Harry looks back, admiring Louis' post-sex aura, and breathing it in. 

“Come on, time for the walk of shame,” he says after a few minutes, giggling and climbing out of the floor of the car, somewhat haphazardly. Louis opens his door, taking a deep breath as the cool May air surrounds him. Harry waits until they’re both out before locking his car, waiting until Louis has walked past the front, before they both fall into step as they walk to the front door, quietly unlocking it. They both remove their shoes at the hallway, before padding down to Harry’s room, bypassing the living room and kitchen. Harry opens his door, wherein Louis immediately goes to the bed, collapsing on it. Harry chuckles, crawling after him, settling next to him, on his stomach, turning his head to stare into those azure eyes. 

Neither of them remember falling asleep that way, but they do, not waking up until the sunshine is streaming into their eyes. It was one of the best sleeps they had had. 

The day is spent separately, with Louis off with Niall and Harry stuck at home filling out information for Princeton, forms for dormitories and meal plans and class schedules. Boring yet exciting at the same time, Harry has his headphones in, and a plate of avocado toast and mug of coffee to keep him company. There’s numerous brochures spread out in front of him as well, with pretty pictures and simple explanations, with the prices listed in tiny print in the corners, something that Harry is very adamantly choosing to ignore. Not that tuition is an issue, as his parents had saved up enough over his eighteen years, but he can’t help but feel a little guilty for choosing such a pricey school. 

It’s about halfway through the forms that laid out Harry’s degree plan. It basically is an outline of the required classes for his major, when they’re offered, and when he’ll be eligible to take them. It’s when he’s reading the years 2019 and 2020 that he suddenly realizes with a jolt how long he’ll be gone. Four whole years. Four years in New Jersey, on the complete opposite side of the country, three thousand miles away from Louis. For four. Whole. Years. 

He can feel the sudden onslaught of sadness, tackling him like a physical being, wrapping its fingers around his throat and suffocating him. He can’t leave Louis here by himself, he can’t leave him here to deal with his homophobic and unaccepting parents. What if AJ comes back? What if he comes back and Harry isn’t here to protect Louis, to talk him down, to tell him that he’s safe and loved? It’s absolutely selfish to leave, it’s an awful thing to do, and Harry doesn’t know why he’s talked himself into it. He looks down at all the forms and applications, degree plans and pretty pictures, and he suddenly pushes back his chair, eyes wide as he gasps, pulling at his hair. 

He needs to withdraw his acceptance, he needs to tell them that he can’t attend. He needs to just go to Oregon State or some small local college, he doesn’t need Ivy League. He wants to be a journalist, why does he need Ivy League for that? No, he doesn’t. He can do perfectly fine at home, and save money, and be with Louis. It’s the only solution, isn’t it? 

He realizes he’s not alone when Gemma practically shouts his name at him, her eyes—which are exact replicas of his own—are wide and concerned when he meets them. “You alright? Need some help with your forms?” she asks, her voice gentle. Harry blinks a few times, before shaking his head slowly, sighing and bringing his knees to his chest. “I can’t go,” he whispers. Gemma’s brow furrows at that as she scoots her chair closer, resting a hand on Harry’s knee, her gaze maternal. “Can’t go to Princeton?” she asks. “Because of Louis?” Harry’s eyes pop at the last addition to the question, not realizing how obvious it must be. Gemma is his sister, the sibling he’s closest to, of course she would be able to figure it out. 

He nods, feeling a little bit pathetic now. Gemma sighs, smiling a bit, rubbing comforting circles into Harry’s knee. “Louis will be fine, he’s almost seventeen, and he’ll still have you,” she assures. Harry listens to her, not really convinced, but giving her time to try and reassure him as best as she can. “And we’ll still be here, and Harry, we will not let anything happen to him,” At those words, Harry can’t help it, he bursts into tears, face growing red as he hides his face in his knees, the tears streaming down at the heartfelt and compassionate words. He’s overwhelmed with love for his sister, for the lengths she’ll go to get him to fulfill his dream and to make sure that Louis is looked after. 

“If the love you two share is real, and as strong as I think it to be, you will be absolutely fine,” she says, her voice steady and full of conviction. When Harry lifts his head to meet with Gemma’s eyes, he sees the truth swimming in them, and he can’t help but feel his heart swell with love for his sister. “Since when have you ever let a boy stop you from chasing your dreams?” she says next, playfully hitting his knee, laughing a bit as she leans back. Harry laughs a bit with her, wiping his tears and lowering his legs, before taking a sigh and running his hand through his hair. 

“He’s not just a boy, Gems,” he whispers, locking eyes with her. “I love him,” his voice is soft, and sincere. Gemma smiles gently, nodding her head. “Yeah, I know,” she replies, stealing a slice of avocado toast and taking a bite. She chews thoughtfully for a minute, before sitting it down and standing up, patting her hands on her thighs in an awkward stalling gesture. Harry looks up at her, raising his eyebrows, before she speaks again. “You should talk to Louis about this,” she remarks, before turning around and walking out of the kitchen, leaving Harry to contemplate her words. 

 

They’re kissing slowly, not fast enough to be considered sexual, just loving. They’re sitting in the middle of Harry’s bed, Louis in Harry’s lap, his legs locked around his waist as his hands gently card through his soft hair, not really pulling him closer, just keeping him from leaning away. Their lips attach briefly, before separating, ghosting each other, before reattaching. Eyes lock in the darkness, green to blue as they kiss, watching each other. Louis' hands move from his hair to slip under Harry’s shirt, gently tracing up the valley between his abs, before running his thumbs over his nipples, smiling a bit into the kiss. Harry shudders at the touch, his own hands moving to grip Louis' hips lightly. 

His mind is racing as they continue to pseudo-make out, their lips really only grazing each other now, most of their attention put into just enjoying each other’s presence and energy. Or at least, that’s what Louis is doing. Harry is actually becoming a little distracted, his mind elsewhere as he tries to work up the courage to bring up the Princeton issue. Or rather, confession, as he’s kind of already made up his mind on the whole thing. He just hopes that by confessing it to Louis, he doesn’t break his heart in the process. He knows that if he sees it happening, his decision will be for naught and he’ll stay. He know he will. He won’t ever leave Louis brokenhearted. 

Louis picks up on Harry’s distraction relatively easy, having memorized his tells long ago, before they were even dating. He carefully kisses Harry one last time before leaning back, brushing his hair back and catching his gaze in the darkness. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice soft, blending into the dark, if sound could melt into sight like that. Harry blushes, his pupils dilating not for like of light but out of nerves, his hands running up and down Louis' slender sides as he figures out how exactly to answer Louis' question. Louis waits patiently, his hand just gently stroking Harry’s hair back in an even motion, eyes taking on an adoring filter. 

Harry focuses on that steadiness in his hand before he speaks, taking a deep breath, his own hands stilling just beneath Louis' ribs. “I have to go to Princeton, but I hate leaving you behind,” he says quietly. He feels his breath catch in his throat as he waits for Louis' reply, watching him intently. He watches as Louis' eyes lose their adoring filter and become concerned instead, if not a little bit sympathetic, with a glint of desperation. His hand doesn’t stop stroking his hair back though, it keeps up its rhythm and for that Harry is grateful. It keeps him from freaking out too much. 

Louis' lips slowly lift up into a gentle smile as he uses his other hand to take one of Harry’s, linking their fingers together and squeezing just a tad. “You’re going to go to Princeton, and you’re going to be amazing,” he says, his voice full of conviction. Harry instantly feels a wave of emotion wash over him, and he feels his eyes start to shine at the heavy words. Louis smiles some more, his hand in Harry’s hair moving down to caress his cheek. “And you are not going to worry about me, because I’m going to be fine. I have my siblings, and Niall, and your family, and I’m going to be okay,” He looks at Harry for validation then, his eyebrows slightly raised, eyes wide. 

Harry swallows nervously, a little intimidated by Louis' intense gaze, but his heart is racing and aching for Louis, and he feels himself fall impossibly more for the younger boy. His mind does what it always does in these situations. It goes into overdrive, running back through the entirety of Harry and Louis' relationship, from the very beginning, with one overlying question flashing like LED lights in the forefront of his mind, over the memories. How did this happen? It’s a question that he’s decided will never have a single true answer, and yet, it still plagues him every day. How did he end up with Louis? How did he end up falling in love with the person he used to hate? 

“Harry,” Louis says, pulling him from his reverie, snapping him back to reality. Harry’s eyes focus in on Louis again, who takes a deep breath, his hand falling from his face to slip into Harry’s other hand, squeezing both of them tightly. “You will not sacrifice your future just because you don’t want to leave me, you will not,” Harry’s heart instantly lurches when he sees tears spring into his eyes, turning the blue expanse into a blue ocean. “It will kill me if I see that happen, so please don’t,” His voice is pained at this point, his eyes desperate, pleading, begging to a point. Harry opens his mouth to speak, but his words get lost when he sees the tear rolling down Louis' cheek. He feels his pupils dilate as he removes his hands from Louis' to take his face carefully in his hands. 

His face is like porcelain in his palms, so fragile, his skin soft and pale, cheekbones prominent, eyes like glass. So easily breakable. A miracle it hasn’t yet. His thumbs wipe away his tears, as he leans forward and kisses his forehead softly. “You’re my future, Louis, how have you not realized that by now?” he whispers. His eyes analyze Louis' intensely, watching as they crinkle in confusion, little crows feet at the corners. His mouth opens, but he too finds himself lost in his own thoughts, unknowing of how to respond to such a question. Harry can practically see the gears turning in his mind, and he wonders if maybe he said the wrong thing. He always forgets that Louis is only sixteen, that words as heavy as that must be a thousand times heavier for him, having most likely never heard them, or having any prior experience as to how to approach them. 

Harry can’t imagine hearing them said to him at eighteen, let alone sixteen, so he instantly feels bad. He had basically kind of indirectly proposed to him, he can’t even imagine how he must feel. “What do you mean?” he hears, and he blinks a few times as he realizes that Louis has spoken. He finds himself suddenly in the same trap, not knowing how to respond, really only one option popping into his brain. It could either make things worse or better, but it’s really the only way to properly answer Louis' question. He was going to give this to him on his birthday in a much lighter setting and as a much lighter representation, but he supposes that this is just fate. 

“Hold on,” he says, waiting until Louis nods before slipping off of his bed and going to his closet, aware of Louis' eyes on him. He pushes his shoes out of the way, before reaching up and taking the little box off the shelf. He decides it’s probably better to not have the casing with him, so he opens it quietly, taking the little silver band and closing his fist around it, putting the box back where it came from. He returns to his bedroom, climbing back into the middle the bed, where Louis is waiting for him, looking up at him curiously, a little nervous blush dusting his cheeks. Harry settles back down, before taking Louis' left hand in his. 

He hears Louis' breath catch in his throat, and so he quickly moves to ease his nerves, maybe just a little bit. “Louis,” he says slowly. “This is my promise, my promise that no matter how far apart we are, or what may come between us, I will never stop loving you,” He gently unrolls Louis' fingers, taking his ring finger, and slipping the promise ring onto it. He looks up at Louis then, smiling involuntarily at the expression on his face. Jaw dropped, eyes wide and full of shock and love, his cheeks burning crimson. He brings his hand up to his face to look at the ring, before his eyes dart to meet Harry’s, and they’re full of happy tears now, like reflection pools. “Fuck, I love you,” he breathes, before lunging forward and locking his arms around Harry’s neck, catching his lips in a passionate kiss. 

Harry lurches a bit, before his hands wrap around Louis' torso and he holds him tightly, kissing him back with just as much passion. He runs his tongue over Louis' lower lip, before pulling it between his own, sucking on it lightly, before slipping his tongue past and feeling Louis' tongue meet with his. They dance together for a while, tasting each other, Louis' hand disappearing into Harry’s hair as he tries to press himself closer, their hips colliding. He doesn’t hesitate to straddle Harry’s waist again, except this time, it’s in a less-than-innocent way, his crotch immediately grinding down against Harry’s. 

Harry instantly moans into the kiss, his hands moving to rest on Louis' ass, pulling him flush back against him, in time with the grinding, Louis moaning this time, their mouths open against each other. Harry doesn’t waste any time falling back onto the mattress, both of them lying horizontally across it, Louis proceeding to pick up a rhythm of grinding on Harry’s crotch, their thin pajama pants doing nothing to hide their arousal. Louis breaks away from Harry’s mouth, leaving a trail of kisses across his jawline instead, his hands pushing up Harry’s shirt a bit, before switching and pushing his pants down just enough to where he’s exposed, his cock hardening completely after the cool air hits it. Louis continues grinding against it, his own hard-on pressing against Harry’s, only a thin layer of fabric separating them. 

Harry whimpers at the sensation, lifting his hips to meet Louis' grinds, the lust already pooling in his stomach. Louis suddenly stops grinding, before kissing down Harry’s neck, and then shifting away completely, to slide off of the bed. He pulls Harry by his hips to the edge of the bed, where his legs are hanging over and he’s standing between them, putting a finger to his lips before Harry can ask him what he’s doing. He uses his left hand, and Harry can’t help but smile as the moonlight refracts off of the silver ring that adorns his finger. Louis drops to his knees then, scooting forward to where his torso is resting against the side of the bed, and he’s eye-level with Harry’s arousal, which twitches in anticipation. Harry braces himself by pressing both of his palms down on the mattress, leaning back slightly, breathing heavily, eyes not wavering from Louis. 

Louis takes a moment to lick his lips, before bringing his hand to his mouth and spitting in it. Harry blushes furiously at that for some reason, but it quickly disappears as Louis wraps his hand around his length, slicking it up with his saliva, rotating his wrist as he goes. Harry moans quietly at the feeling of Louis' hand, his hips barely lifting. Louis continues sliding his hand up and down his cock, mouth slightly parted as he concentrates, soft puffs of breath hitting the head of Harry’s erection in even intervals. 

It continues like that for a moment, until Harry is gasping, already feeling himself growing close from the simple handjob. Louis must sense this, because he slows his hand, until he removes it completely, leaning forward and licking a single stripe up the underside of his shaft, before kissing the tip and sticking two fingers in his mouth, sucking them lightly. Harry feels his high simultaneously subside and peak as he realizes that Louis is going to take him tonight. Louis chuckles at Harry’s reaction, his other hand rubbing his inner thigh affectionately, the silver ring cold against his soft skin. Harry decides to just collapse onto the bed, removing his shirt just as Louis slips the first finger inside of him. He lets out a cry of pleasure, immediately clenching around the finger and pushing back against it, silently begging for another to be added. He throws his shirt to the ground as he begins to writhe above Louis, who quickly adds the second finger, pumping the two in and out, curling them to just barely brush over his front. 

His other hand moves down to rub the outline of his own erection, desperate for some friction of his own. His licks his lips as he watches Harry squirm on the bed, his breath coming gasps, his muscles clenching around the two fingers, asking for something much more satisfying. His erection is straining, begging for some attention as well, and so Louis reaches up and drags one of Harry’s own hands to it. Harry gets the message immediately, wrapping his fingers around his length and pumping it up and down, just as Louis removes his fingers from Harry’s hole and stands up, pushing his own pajama pants down and reaching to the bedside table drawer, retrieving the lube. He squirts a generous amount onto his hand, before slicking up his throbbing erection and rubbing the excess around Harry’s entrance. Harry whimpers in anticipation, his hand speeding up on his length as he squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to be surprised. 

Louis stands between Harry’s legs, gripping his hips tightly and lining his tip up with Harry’s hole, biting down on his lip. He gently pushes in, the head slipping past easily, Harry’s muscles enveloping him, welcoming him, pulling him in. He removes his hand from his cock to grip Harry’s other hip, and he begins to slowly fill him up, inch by inch. Harry’s mouth falls open as he feels Louis pushing inside of him, and he lifts his legs to lock behind Louis' waist, his hands landing on top of his, fingers locking around his tiny wrists. He does a surprisingly good job at keeping quiet, his mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back as he arches his back to give Louis a better angle. His chest is already glistening with a layer of sweat, and when he feels Louis hit his prostate, his eyes finally fly open, and he looks up at Louis, who is gasping as well, already looking down at Harry. 

He suddenly leans down, his face centimeters from Harry’s, and they stare at each other for a moment, before Harry closes the distance and presses his lips to Louis'. They slowly kiss as Louis begins to move inside of Harry, not really thrusting, just experimenting with rolling his hips, buried to the hilt, feeling every single muscle twitch around him. They kiss until Harry can’t anymore, the sensations becoming too overwhelming, and he has to pull away, slumping against the mattress, trying to maintaining his breathing. 

Louis kisses his neck, before standing back up, and finally pulling out slightly, before slamming quite harshly back into Harry. Harry has to release one of Louis' wrists to press a fist to his mouth to keep from crying out in pleasure. Louis smirks, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he repeats the motion, careful not to let his thighs hit the underside of Harry’s, not wanting that noise to fill the entire house, not this late at night. It means he can’t hit Harry’s prostate every time, but when he wants to, he slows down, a method of teasing in itself. Harry’s head thrashes from left to right as he feels Louis sliding in and out of him, the head of his arousal hitting his prostate dead-on every fourth thrust or so. 

He can feel tears prick at his eyes as Louis fucks him, his hands grabbing fistfuls of bedsheets, his breath leaving his lips in a whistle as he tries not to scream out how good it feels. Louis stops for just a moment, halfway in Harry, to remove his shirt, and in that amount of time, Harry gets impatient, and pushes his hips back against Louis' cock, getting a little bit of friction but not near as much as Louis was giving him. Louis raises his eyebrows at the impatience, disapproval evident in his features. Harry blushes, his eyes widening as he makes to apologize, but before he can, Louis pulls out of him completely, and flips him over, to where Harry is on his hands and knees. 

He gasps at the new position, locking his elbows and looking over his shoulder as Louis spreads his cheeks and steps back up, brushing his fingers over his hole once before pushing back inside of him, his hands moving to hold the sides of his torso. They have never done it doggy-style before—with Harry bottoming, that is—and he doesn’t know how much he enjoys it. It still feels fucking amazing, and makes his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he rather misses being able to see Louis' face during it. 

However, Louis helps him forget that by increasing the speed of his thrusts and slamming directly into his prostate every single time, his nails leaving crescent-shaped indentations on the sides of his torso. Harry’s arms shake with the waves of pleasure washing over him, and he almost falls, but then he doesn’t, because Louis moves his hand underneath and starts tugging on Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts into his ass, and Harry can feel himself teetering on the edge almost instantly. “Oh, God, Louis! Don’t stop!” he says, voice barely above a whisper. Louis groans in response, his hips jerking harshly into Harry now, his hand tugging roughly on his length. 

Harry feels his orgasm building as his eyes screw shut, and his muscles clench around Louis' cock. He lets out a loud gasp as he comes, shooting all over Louis' hand, some of it landing on the sheets below him, but he can’t care less at the moment. His legs shake with the force of it, and so do his arms, but he somehow manages to stay in position long enough for Louis to come with him. It takes a minute, as he lifts his hand slick with Harry’s come and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers as he continues fucking into Harry, his eyes sliding shut. “Mmm,” he moans, before chasing after his own orgasm, his hands moving to grip Harry’s hips. 

If it were possible, Harry feels that he could come again just from feeling Louis coming inside of him, but his own orgasm was so strong, he doesn’t think it’s going to happen. Louis comes with a stuttering stop, his face clenched with pleasure as he spills inside of Harry, burying himself completely, surrounding himself with that warmth a final time, before releasing the breath he had been holding and slumping against Harry’s hips, dropping down to brace his hands on the mattress and rest his head on Harry’s back. “Jesus Christ, you’re perfect,” he breathes. Harry chuckles, breathless, before lifting his head to kiss the top of Louis' sweaty head. 

They stay there for a minute, before Louis slides out, quickly grabbing tissues to gather what escapes down Harry’s leg, wiping it up and tossing it into the trash. Harry slowly stands up, wincing just a bit at the loss, before pulling his pajama pants back up and staring at the mess that he left on his sheets. “So much for getting away with it,” he says. “They’re going to know once they see me washing the sheets,” Louis chuckles from behind Harry, pulling his own pants up and winding his arms around Harry’s waisting, his chin resting on his shoulder. “Right, because they don’t already know,” he says, giggling at the end, pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s neck. 

Harry blushes, before leaning back against Louis, his hands resting over top of Louis', his palm feeling the cold of his new ring. He smiles, looking down at it. “It fits, I’m glad,” he remarks. Louis' eyes fall to it as well, before he smiles, pressing himself closer to Harry, giggling a little, spreading his fingers to better look at it. “It’s so beautiful, thank you so much,” he replies. 

 

It’s Louis' seventeenth birthday. It’s a beautifully sunny day, with not a single cloud in the sky—a rarity for the Pacific northwest. Harry can’t be more grateful, because this is a day that he wants to spend outside of his bedroom and his house with Louis, taking him to all of his favorite places and showering him in gifts and love and affection, sickeningly sweet but perfect. He doesn’t quite have the entire day planned out, only the evening. Remember, he had booked those tables at Louis' favorite Italian restaurant? That’s still ready to go, all of his friends and family RVSP’d and prepared to arrive promptly at seven with bells on. 

Until then, though, it’s kind of up in the air, but Harry is determined to make it Louis' best birthday ever. He hasn’t celebrated a birthday with Louis, so he just hopes that whatever he decides to do, Louis will like it. He has an inkling that anything he does Louis will enjoy and appreciate it, but he still wants it all to be just right. You only turn seventeen once, after all. 

He starts the day out by letting Louis sleep in longer than usual, making breakfast in the time available. It’s nothing too extravagant, mostly because Harry doesn’t know how to make anything past really good waffles and bacon, but he adds some strawberries and blueberries on the top to make it look pretty and he’s going to serve it to Louis in bed and that always makes anything taste dozens of times better. He almost thought about writing happy birthday in whipped cream but he decides that that’s a little too cheesy plus he doesn’t have any whipped cream. 

He carefully walks back to his room, almost there, before being intercepted by his Gemma, who looks at the food in his hands. “Did you make breakfast for everyone?” he asks, trying to steal a piece of bacon from the plate, but Harry swings it away, shaking his head. “Fuck off, this is for Louis,” he replies. Gemma looks at Harry, blinking for a moment before crossing her arms. “You could’ve made breakfast for everyone, you know,” she says, faking offense that she’ll have to fend for herself this morning. Harry stares back at her for a moment, a few choice responses running through his mind, before he settles on one, smirking a little at his own obscenity before speaking. “Yeah, sorry, I only make breakfast for those who give me orgasms,” he deadpans, staring directly at Gemma and watching as her face contorts into a mask of disgust and laughter and she shakes her head. “I don’t want your sex waffles anyways, you’re gross,” 

She walks off this, shuddering dramatically, while Harry chuckles softly under his breath. His family knows he’s gay, but he’d never been quite so upfront and obvious about it until just then, and to be honest, he quite liked the reaction he got of his sister. At least it got her to laugh and leave Harry’s handiwork alone for Louis and Louis alone to enjoy. And maybe Harry, if there was any leftover. He continues down the hall without any other interruptions, and carefully pushes his door open with his foot, walking in quietly and sitting the tray of food down on the bedside table before crawling next to Louis, with the intent on waking him up.

However, he takes a moment for himself to admire Louis' sleeping form. His curls that are pushed away from his eyes this time, spilling back into a pile on the top of his head, his mouth closed, lips creating almost a heart-shape, a gorgeous pink color. His eyes closed, lashes resting gently in place, long and dark, somehow not tangled together with each other. He’s relaxed, his forehead smooth, jaw slack, everything pretty and pale and perfect. 

Harry smiles to himself, before leaning down and pressing his lips to Louis' forehead, not hesitating before moving down and kissing on both of his cheekbones, little pepperings of kisses down his jawline, a few on his neck. He tosses his legs over Louis' waist, gently straddling him as he continues to leave butterfly kisses over his neck, hoping to ease him into consciousness. It works, as he hears Louis' breath become a little heavier with consciousness, and he begins to turns his head to give Harry more skin to work with. “Mmm,” he hears Louis moan softly as he Harry kisses the sensitive spot just below his ear, and he smiles into it, feeling Louis' small hands land on his hips loosely. 

Harry let’s his lips ghost over Louis' skin before resting like a feather over his lips, not applying any pressure, just lingering. Louis, however, isn’t having that, lifting his head to press his lips against Harry’s, immediately heating it up by sucking Harry’s bottom lip between his, his hands tightening on his hips. Harry kisses him back for a moment, before sitting up and moving off of Louis, reaching for the tray of breakfast. “I made you waffles,” he states, turning back to find that Louis is sitting up too, yawning and running a hand through his unruly hair. His blue eyes widen as he takes in the tray, before darting up to meet with Harry’s. “Harry…,” he says, his lips lifting up in a smile. Harry reciprocates it, leaning forward and pecking his lips to Louis' quickly. “Happy birthday, baby,” he says, before placing the tray in Louis' lap. 

After breakfast and a shower—sans sex because he has special plans for after the dinner—Harry orders Louis to dress in something comfortable and flexible, before handing him a pair of hiking boots. “We are going on a hike,” he says matter-of-factly. Louis' eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything back as he puts the shoes on, lacing them up. Harry copies his movements with his own hiking boots, zipping up a jacket as well, and handing Louis a loaner, a light blue number that Harry hopes he’ll decide to keep. Think of it as a casual pseudo-birthday present of sorts. Louis accepts it, buttoning it up and running a hand through his curls, lurching on his feet in wait. 

Harry smiles, grabbing his wallet and keys, before holding out his hand for Louis to take. “It’s going to be a little chilly, but the view at the top is worth it, I promise,” he explains as Louis links his fingers with his, and the two walk out into the garage. It’s still fairly early, not yet ten, and the sun is high in the sky, shining down on them. It is chilly despite the rays of light, but not unbearably so, and it’ll be warm by the time they return. They climb in Harry’s car, Louis' eyes wide with excitement and a little bit of wonder, watching as they speed down the highway to the edge of the town, to the mountains.

He’s pleasantly surprised when he realizes that Harry has invited Liam to join them, and he can’t help but giggle at all the supplies he’s brought along. He claims that he’s just ‘being safe’ and that this trail is ‘dangerous and unpredictable’ but after looking worriedly at Harry, he’s reassured that Liam is just joking around and can’t go a day without his favorite snacks. They all embark at a relatively easy pacing, Louis grasping Harry’s hand the whole time, afraid of tripping or something silly like that. Liam makes fun of him for it, but it’s all in good fun. 

And when they arrive at the top, it really is beautiful. They’re out of breath, sweaty, and exhausted, but they’re standing in a thicket of trees with a slight parting that reveals a picture perfect snapshot of the entire Pacific northwest mountain range. The mountains are curved, outlining the choppy ocean far below. It’s a sight to see, and very much worth it. Liam digs out his camera to capture the moment forever, while Louis loops his arms around Harry’s waist, and rests his head on his shoulder, taking it all in with his own two eyes. Harry wraps his arm around Louis' shoulders, kissing the top of his head, before looking out at the magnificent view as well. 

The hike back isn’t nearly as fun for all three of them, but Liam manages to keep them all in good spirits with his over-dramatic complaining, the kind that makes Louis laugh so hard he has tears in eyes, and to see him so happy, it makes Harry so happy, too. So, tired and sweaty as they may be, when they arrive back to their cars, they’re in a good mood. Liam departs with promises to shower before the dinner tonight, to which Harry scolds him for ‘ruining the last surprise’. Liam laughs it off, driving away before Harry can really yell at him, and Louis just pretends that he didn’t hear anything, nodding off just a bit on the drive home, his hand resting loosely in Harry’s. 

The two essentially nap away the rest of the day, waking up a few hours before the scheduled dinner and showering together yet again—sans sex yet again as well, though Harry won’t lie and say there wasn’t some steamy grinding, pun intended. “Get dressed in this,” Harry instructs, handing Louis some clothes that Sage had brought over earlier, at Harry’s request. Louis eyes them curiously, before nodding, taking them and moving to the side, letting the towel fall. As much as Harry would love to look at Louis' naked body, he himself needs to get dressed too, so he disappears into his closet, pulling down the outfit he had already chosen for tonight. 

It’s black-tie formal, just how he prefers any occasion to be, and this time he’s gone for a blue suit, with a simple white button-down and matching blue tie. He’s classy in the best way possible, and he knows he’s going to kind of match with Louis, but not entirely, so it’s not cheesy or anything. Okay, it’s a little cheesy, but he doesn’t really care. After he gets dressed, he looks at himself in the mirror, running his hands to the hair, pushing it to either side, before settling on one. He hopes he looks good enough for Louis. Then again, who is he kidding? Standing next to Louis, nobody can look better than him. 

He leaves the closet, almost running into Louis, who stumbles back, blushing furiously. He’s dressed, looking absolutely striking in his darker blue suit, with an almost midnight black button up underneath, his curls spilling over his forehead. He looks a lot older than seventeen in this moment, but that’s past Harry, who at the moment can only really focus on how much bluer his eyes look against the royal blue of his blazer. “S-sorry,” Louis says, his voice trailing off as he steps back and looks at Harry, his own eyes widening, revealing more of their deep azure. 

Harry feels himself blush as he watches Louis look at him, his stomach contracting with nerves at such an intense gaze. “You should dress like that every day,” Louis says, a little absentmindedly, his eyes still raking over Harry’s body. Harry rolls his eyes, grabbing his wallet and keys for the second time today, holding out his elbow. “Yeah, okay, come on birthday boy,” he says, feigning exasperation. Louis giggles, looping his arm through Harry’s, before leaning down just a bit to kiss his cheek. “I’m excited for dinner,” he whispers, but the tone of his voice implies that it’s not entirely the dinner he’s looking forward. At that, Harry’s mind goes to what he has planned for after dinner, and he blushes. Which probably looks like a really strange reaction to Louis being excited for dinner, but no matter. 

Thankfully, Louis doesn’t notice how quiet the house is when they leave, and Harry knows that he knows at least Liam will be there—thank you again, Liam—but he hopes that he hasn’t figured out who else will be there, so it’s still somewhat of a surprise. They drive there with soft music playing, the 1975 nonetheless, and it doesn’t take long for Louis to figure out where they’re going. “Are we going where I think we’re going?” he asks, his eyes wide and voice full of wary excitement. Harry giggles, stealing a glance over at him. “Depends on where you’re thinking,” he replies. “If you’re thinking of Ti Amo, then you’re correct,” He can see without looking Louis' eyes pop, and his jaw drop before he squeals, leaning over the console to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

They pull into the restaurant giggly, Louis already recognizing some of the cars in the lot. He keeps his mouth shut though as they walk up, his face bright and a wide smile coating his lips. He keeps his arm looped through Harry’s, walking a little haphazardly with excitement. Harry keeps him steady as they push through the double doors, and the hostess guides them to the party room, where two or three tables are set up with beautiful flower centerpieces, and all of his friends and his siblings are present. Niall and Zayn, Lottie and Fizzy and Steele, Liam, Lou,x even Harry’s siblings and his parents, all dressed to the nines and here to celebrate Louis. 

They all clap when they enter, shouting out a happy birthday, and smiling brightly. Louis goes bright red, before his face crumples with happiness, and smiles so wide it could cure cancer. “You guys,” he says, looking at everyone. There’s a little bit of laughter, before Louis turns to look at Harry, the smile morphing into something a little more affectionate. “Thank you,” he says, lifting a hand to touch Harry’s cheek. Harry blushes, mostly because of all the eyes on him, but just shrugs his shoulders. “Happy birthday, Louis,” he says, his voice sincere. Louis smiles, before leaning down and pressing his lips to his, not making it more intimate than that, since they’re in public. 

Harry vaguely registers hearing a few ‘aws’ before Louis pulls away, and the party begins. It’s an evening spent with good food and even better friends, lots of laughter, hugs, kisses, just a plain old good time. Louis enjoys himself the whole time, even dancing a little with Niall, despite how bad he is at it. Harry thrives in seeing Louis happy, and spends the time he isn’t with Louis with Lou and Liam, as he hasn’t had much time to his own friends since the summer began. Zayn joins in as well, molding in easily with the other graduates, and while it’s a little strange on Harry’s part, he isn’t one to exclude. Not anymore. 

They leave with a lot more than they arrived with, taking all of Louis' present back with them in the car. They say hearty goodbyes and goodnights, with promises to keep in touch and meet up again before everyone either goes back to school or off to college. Harry says bye to his parents, which piques Louis' interest, because it implies that they aren’t going home. Harry pretends not to see his intrigue, taking his hand and waving one final time before pulling him outside into the now-cold air. “Where are we going?” he asks, but Harry only winks at him, preferring to keep as much of the element of surprise on his side as he can. 

They drive in silence this time, Harry growing more and more anxious as they get closer to the hotel that he had booked. It’s a nice hotel, with thick walls, so they can be as loud as they want. With whatever it is that they’re doing, of course. He had a small overnight bag in the car already, packed with all the necessary, er, supplies, for the evening. 

When they park, and Harry takes out said overnight bag, Louis finally puts together the pieces, his eyes widening, and that little sultry grin that had been lost for quite a while making a reappearance. “Happy birthday to me,” he murmurs, winking at Harry. Harry momentarily gets lost in that sultry gaze, before shaking his head a bit and smoothing his face for their check-in. Once they’re up to their room, and the door his locked, he takes a deep breath, sitting the bag down and turning to look at Louis. He’s wandered into the center of the room, running his hand over the king-size mattress, before looking out at the view of nighttime Portland, Oregon. 

Harry wastes no time shrugging off his blazer and undoing his tie, before stepping up behind Louis and wrapping his arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his exposed neck. “Consider this your birthday present,” he whispers, kissing his neck again. Louis tenses a little, bending his head to give Harry more room to press more kisses to his sensitive skin. “That’s all I get from you? Some birthday sex?” he teases, his voice raspy. Harry chuckles, licking under his jaw just a bit, grinding his hips against Louis' ass. “I was going to give you the promise ring tonight, but, things change,” he explains softly, his voice low. His eyes glance down along with Louis' to look at the shiny silver band on his ring finger, both gently smiling at it. 

Louis twists around to lock his arms around Harry’s neck, his eyes dark with lust already. “I’m all yours, baby, do whatever you want to me,” he breathes, licking his lips at the end. The action makes lust pool in Harry’s stomach, and he can’t help himself as he leans forward, crashing his lips to Louis'. It’s with such force that the two stumble back onto the bed, which is just as well, because that’s where Harry wants them to go anyway. Louis kicks his shoes off before scrambling upward, his hands moving to grab fistfuls of Harry’s hair and hold tight, his mouth ravaging his, unrelenting as he pushes his tongue past his lips and fights for dominance. 

It’s heated, it’s passionate, it’s hot, and Harry knows that this is going to be some of the best sex they’ve ever had. He lets his hands push Louis' blazer away, before quite literally ripping his shirt open, the buttons popping off, and exposing Louis' pale chest. His hands are instantly roaming it, thumbs running over his nipples, before traveling down his abs, and stopping just above his waistband. Their mouths continue to attack each other, Louis leaning up just a bit to try and gain the upper hand, but Harry quickly moves his hands to push him back down at the shoulders, nipping at his bottom lip. 

Louis quickly gets the message, submitting and settling against the pillows, letting Harry ravish him with his lips. He manages to keep up the fast pace of their mouths as he slides his hands down Louis' arms, before locking around his wrists and bringing them up and over to meet above his head. He holds them together with one hand, before using the other to pull his tie off, all the while still making out with Louis. Louis is either being a good submissive, or is too distracted by Harry’s mouth to realize what is happening, either way, he doesn’t protest as Harry expertly ties his hands together, and then to the headboard above. He’s impressed with himself, he’ll admit. 

He finally removes his mouth from Louis', even though Louis leans forward to try and recapture him, eyes still closed. They flutter open as soon as Harry grinds down on his crotch, feeling him harden against him. His eyes glance up to look at his bound hands, before flitting down to Harry, his cheeks flushed, lips swollen, and eyes full of lust. “You had your chance to play the dominant role,” Harry mewls, grinding down in a pattern now, falling down to his palms supporting him, closer to Louis' face. “Now it’s my turn,” he says, before suddenly licking a stripe from his collarbones, up the side of his neck to just below his jawline. Louis shudders, whimpering a bit as he nods, biting down on his lip. 

Harry chuckles, his hands moving to run down Louis' chest again, nails lightly scratching the soft skin as he shifts down between his legs. “I only have one rule, Tomlinson,” he says clearly, unbuttoning Louis' slacks and unzipping the fly. He can see his bulge through the fabric, and his mouth waters in anticipation of what’s to come. Louis' black eyes meet with Harry’s as he listens, his toes curling into the mattress as he tries to rub his thighs together, but is prevented by Harry’s body. “Do not come until I tell you to, do you understand?” he asks, his voice full of formidability. He sees Louis pale a bit, but his color quickly returns as he nods, lifting his hips in a bid for relief. Harry smirks, before sitting up and pulling the slacks off, one leg at a time. He settles his hands on Louis' ankles, before sliding them up slowly. 

He lingers on his thighs, rubbing teasing circles into the soft, pale skin, just inches from his boxers, where he can see a little dark patch of pre-come staining the fabric. “Look at you, so eager,” he says, looking up at Louis. He’s closed his eyes, his hands clenched into fists above his head, jaw taut as he breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling, abs shining with sweat. He’s still dressed from the waist up in his ripped shirt and blazer, but it makes it all hotter in Harry’s eyes, and he licks his lips, before slipping his hands under Louis' boxers, thumbs resting in the dip where his legs meet his crotch. He can feel the heat coming off of his throbbing length, and he groans with Louis as he finally moves his hands to wrap one around the base of his shaft, and the other to fondle his balls. Harry runs a dry fist up the hard shaft, before using the pre-come gathered at the tip to slick up his hand, making his movements easier. 

He rotates his wrist—a little difficult with the fabric confining his hand to only simple movements—as he strokes Louis' cock, relishing in the noises he’s producing a ways above, a mixture of moans and whimpers, hands grabbing at nothing. He shifts a little one the bed to give himself some friction, as he speeds up the thrusts of his hand, feeling Louis writhe at every single stimulation. 

Harry removes his hands only for a moment as he pushes Louis' boxers off, immediately putting his hands back on him, picking up the pace again, this time laying down on his stomach, so he’s at eye-level. “You like my hand, baby?” he asks as Louis thrusts up into his closed fist involuntarily. He looks up to see Louis nodding, his cheek pressed into the pillow, eyes still shut. “Yes, I like your h-hand,” he pants, pushing his hips upward once again. Harry chuckles, keeping his hand still, positioning his mouth so that with every thrust upward, the head would hit his lips. “Fuck my hand, baby,” he whispers. Louis listens to him, immediately bucking his hips up in a rhythmic fashion, moans leaving his lips at a constant rate. 

Harry sticks out his tongue, so that the underside of Louis' tip slides over the warm wetness every time he thrusts up, adding some extra pleasure to the action. He stays there for a moment, before moving his mouth away, stretching down to the foot of the bed where his bag sits. Louis whimpers a bit at the loss of Harry’s tongue, but continues fucking his hand without abandon, though Harry purposely loosens it to take away some of the pleasure as he doesn’t want Louis coming anytime soon. He has other things he wants to do with him. 

He digs around in his bag before feeling the bottle of lube and the extra special object he’s brought along for tonight exclusively. It’s clear, about six or seven inches long, with little bubble-like spheres at even intervals spaced along, smooth and shiny. He ordered it from an online sex shop, and it was the one with the best reviews, so he only hopes that Louis enjoys it. If he doesn’t, he’ll be embarrassed, but absolutely willing to never try out toys ever again. With Louis still obliviously fucking his hand, he expertly pops open the cap of the lube, squirting some onto the toy, before closing it again. 

He slicks up the toy, before moving back and sitting up just a bit, removing his hand from Louis' length just as he starts to push the toy into his entrance. It’s lubed up and not thick enough to cause any pain, just a bit of surprise as Louis gasps, eyes flying open to lock with Harry’s as he pushes the toy in enough that one of the clear spheres disappears inside of him. “Do you like it?” he asks, concerned but hiding it. Louis blinks, groaning as Harry pushes another one of the spheres inside of him. “Fuck, did you really get a-anal beads?” Louis pants, arching his back, clearly liking the sensation of being filled up by them. “They’re not traditional anal beads and that’s not what I asked you,” Harry replies, roughly shoving the next sphere in, wondering how much Louis can take. The entire toy is about an inch shorter than Harry, so he’s pretty sure he can take the whole thing. 

Louis lets out a loud cry of pleasure, clenching around the toy, fresh pre-come leaking out of his tip. “It feels a-amazing!” he shouts, before it cuts off into a moan, his legs shaking as Harry pushes the fourth sphere inside of him. He leaves the last one out, a strange fear of not being able to get it back out filling his brain and preventing him from adding it. He lets go, smirking as Louis clenches around it, preventing it from slipping out. “Good,” he finally replies, before suddenly licking a stripe up his length, circling his tongue over the head, tasting the pre-come. “Oh, fuck, Harry! It’s too much, it’s too—,” Louis says, but he’s quickly cut off when Harry reaches a hand up and clamps it over his mouth. “Don’t come, baby, don’t do it,” he warns. Louis groans, frustrated, but nods, gasping as Harry goes back to sucking lightly on his tip, carefully pushing the toy back in as it starts to slide out a bit. 

He can feel himself growing more impatient with this foreplay as he continues blowing Louis, his own cock straining against his pants, and his shirt soaked with his own sweat. He pushes his hair out of his eyes as he removes his mouth from Louis' cock and sits up, breathless. He takes his shirt off, standing up and quickly undoing his pants, letting them fall along with his boxers. He groans as the cold air hits his throbbing length, and he locks eyes with Louis, who’s widen as they take in Harry’s appearance. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” he says. Harry blushes, which kind of takes away from his whole ‘dominant’ attitude, but he has a feeling that it’s not really his thing anyways. He crawls back onto the bed, bent at the knees, the rest of his body straight, his cock clearly visible as he slicks it up with lube, running his hand over it. 

He forces himself to keep his eyes open, only to watch as Louis growls, his eyes dilating as he looks at his cock, licking his lips. The headboard creaks as he involuntarily tries to move his arms—presumably to touch Harry in some way—but he stops himself as he realizes, biting down on his lip to ease his frustration. Fully coated, Harry carefully removes the toy, arousal clouding his brain as he hears the sounds escaping from Louis' mouth. “Shit, it feels even better when you take it out,” he says, Harry making a mental reminder on that fact. With the toy prepping Louis better than his fingers could, Harry wastes no time positioning his length and sliding in, quickly replacing the plastic toy with his hot, velvety warmth. “Oh, God, you’re so much better,” Louis suddenly says, throwing his head back and immediately clenching around Harry. 

Harry can’t help but laugh a little at the comment, rolling his eyes as he fills up Louis completely, angling himself so that he hits where the toy never could. “A-ah! Harry!” Louis cries, his eyes flying open to lock with the green pair that’s hovering above him. Harry stares at him, admiring his red face, the sheen of sweat over his forehead, and his eyes that are as dark as midnight, veiled with lust, blurred with love. “Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers, before leaning down and kissing him in time with his first thrust. Louis kisses him back, whimpering against his lips, lifting his legs to lock around his waist, pulling him harder against him. 

Harry lets him help out, fucking roughly into him, enough to move the bed under them. Eager to feel hands on him, he reaches up and undoes Louis' binds, his arms falling to land on his shoulders, before immediately running down his back and gripping at his hips. He pulls his lips away to breathe, keeping eye contact as he thrusts into Louis, his head hitting his prostate as his shaft is surrounded by Louis' heat. His muscles clench and unclench around him, creating an ecstasy that is incomparable to anything else. 

He slides in and out of him, pulling out to where only the head remains inside, before roughly shoving back inside, each thrust eliciting a loud cry from Louis, his nails digging into Harry’s hips each time. “Fuck me, daddy, fuck me h-hard,” he hisses, a sudden dominance overcoming his features. Harry raises his eyebrows, slowing just a bit, before figuring that it is Louis' birthday, after all. Not that he wouldn’t give in in any other situation, but. 

He takes a deep breath, adjusting his positioning just a bit, before fucking into Louis as hard as he can, so much so that the headboard hits the wall, and Louis practically screams out with pleasure, his jaw dropped and his eyes clenched shut. “Oh! Yes! Fuck me, daddy! Fuck me!” he yells out, before he can’t talk anymore, the pleasure is too much. The same can be said for Harry, who feels his orgasm approaching him like a bullet, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. “God, you’re hot,” he himself groans, before he’s spilling suddenly inside of Louis, not quite expecting the onslaught of ecstasy, falling to rest his head on the pillows next to Louis. Louis, who moves his hands down to Harry’s ass and continues to push him further inside of himself. 

“Make me come, baby, please,” he begs, trying to push back on Harry’s length as he recovers from his orgasm. He can feel his own come around his length, but it really only drives him on as he sits back up, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes. He musters up the rest of strength to fuck Louis, choosing the right angle every time and driving straight into his prostate each time. “H-Harry, oh, please, can I come?” Louis asks, desperately, his head thrashing from side to side. Harry looks down at Louis' erection, red and pulsing against his stomach, and he reaches down to wrap his hand around it, running it in a fist over it in a silent answer. “Come for me, baby boy, and say my name when you do,” he says softly, his voice a contrast to the rather obscene sound of skin against skin. Louis groans, pushing himself up off the bed as he finally lets himself go, shooting pretty white streaks all over his stomach as he comes. “Harry!” he screams, his entire body shaking with the intensity of it all. He spasms around Harry’s length, coming more than usual, letting Harry milk him through it all. 

After he finishes, he slumps back down onto the mattress, his ruined shirt and sweat-stained blazer crinkling with the movement. “Holy fuck, Harry,” he gasps, running a hand through his hair and looking up at him. Harry blushes, giggling as he slowly slides out of Louis, sitting back on his haunches. He can see his come leaking out of Louis' hole, but he knows that they can just take the duvet off before they go to sleep. “Birthday sex good, then?” he asks, breathless. Louis sighs, taking a deep breath as he nods, pushing his curls back as he closes his eyes out of exhaustion. 

Harry gets up, putting the lube in his bag and tossing the toy into the bathtub to clean later, washing himself up at the sink, before washing his hands and putting his pajamas on. He returns with a warm washcloth to wipe off Louis' stomach and his inner thighs. Louis lets him, watching him with soft eyes, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Thank you,” he whispers. Harry looks up at him, wondering why such a simple action warranted such a sincere expression of gratitude. He just smiles back, taking the washcloth back to the sink, stopping at his bag to pull out Louis' own pajamas, switching out the ruined shirt and blazer for the clean, comfy clothes. 

Once he’s dressed, and the duvet is in fact removed to the floor, Harry slides in next to him, pulling the thin sheet over them as he opens his arms for Louis to snuggle into. Louis obliges, resting his head against his chest, taking a calming breath. Harry wraps an arm around him, kissing the top of his head as he uses his other arm to turn off the lamplight, washing them both in darkness. Louis cuddles even closer at that, his own arms moving up to squeeze between his own chest and Harry, hands in loose fists. “Thank you for the best birthday ever,” he whispers. Harry chuckles, tightening his grip on the younger boy. “Of course, Louis, I’m glad you had such a great time,” 

 

A few weeks later, nothing that interesting as happened in the lives of Louis or Harry, except more planning for Princeton as the daunting date draws nearer and nearer. So far, the couple has done a relatively good job making the most of their time together, but not quite to the point where they’re inseparable. They haven’t arrived to that yet, though neither doubts that they’ll get there soon. Harry has come to conclusion to revisit Louis' home, and try and talk to his parents, try and work things out between them and Louis before he leaves and will be unable to house Louis with his family any longer. He can’t stand the thought of just leaving without at least trying to make sure Louis is safe. 

He’s returned a few times, Louis has, just to visit his siblings really, and he tells Harry that his parents ask him to stay, but don’t stop him from leaving, so he’s not entirely sure what their thought process is at the moment. He also tells Harry not to worry about it, that he’s comfortable going back to live with them. Which, as of late, he’s taken to reminding him a lot of. He says he feels like he’s overstayed his welcome, that Harry’s family must be getting tired of feeding him and caring for him, but Harry reassures him that that is not the case. And he knows that’s true. Harry’s parents know bits and pieces about Louis' parents from Harry, and they’re just as concerned as to Louis' returning as Harry, if not more, because they’re parents as well. 

Regardless, Louis is allowed to stay as long as he needs to, and it’s shaping out to be until Harry himself departs. It’s been an absolutely wonderful summer so far though, getting to spend so much time with Louis, especially after that chaotic final month of senior year, when their time was limited. Harry was afraid that they’d get tired of each other, but they haven’t. They’ve found endless things to talk about, experience together, creating memories the entire time. 

The Louis beneath his sarcastic, arrogant persona that he puts forth is a gentle, giggly, and extremely affectionate Louis, one that thrives on hugs and kisses and smiles, and who can be both the sweetest and sultriest boy this side of the Pacific if he has a mind to be. It drives Harry wild, it makes him feel like the luckiest boy in the world, and it helps take the edge off of leaving. 

Louis wears the promise ring like it’s worth a million dollars and makes a point to show it off whenever he can. It flatters Harry, but also comforts him, knowing that even when he’s two thousand miles away, people will know that Louis is taken, that he is loved by someone. The silver glitters in the sun whenever it’s out, and when it’s not, the moonlight or the rain glistens off of it and Harry always finds it catching his eye, no matter the situation or the setting. Louis insists that Harry needs to get one too, before he goes, but Harry teasingly tells Louis that it’s his job to go buy one then. 

On this particular day at the end of June, Louis and Harry are down on the beach, enjoying the warmer temperatures and the sunshine, and the solitude of the secret little stretch of beach that they managed to find. They’re lying out on towels, sunglasses on and pale chests to the sun in hopes of getting somewhat of a tan. 

“I’m from England, I should’ve been born tan in exchange, what the fuck,” Louis exclaims, before giving the sun the finger. Harry giggles as Louis lets his hand fall, immediately finding Harry’s and intertwining their fingers. They hold their hands loosely as they continue to sunbathe, nothing pressing them to speak, or interact past that. The sun is warm and Harry is lathered in sunscreen so that he doesn’t fry, and everything is perfect. He can almost feel himself about to nod off every now and then, but manages to catch himself before he does, knowing the consequences of falling asleep on the beach all too well. 

A few minutes of this content silence pass before Louis suddenly sits up, twisting to look at Harry, who remains lying on his towel, peering up at his boyfriend through his sunglasses. Louis pushes his curls out of his eyes, adjusts his own shades, and then moves to straddle Harry’s waist. “There’s something I want to do,” he says, pressing his hands flat on Harry’s warm chest, fingers splayed. Harry perks up, lifting his upper half up with his elbows, getting sand ground into his pores. “You are not fucking me on a beach, sorry, but no,” he replies, completely serious. He does not want sand up his ass, not anytime soon, or ever really. 

Louis blinks at him for a moment, before bursting into giggles, shaking his head, his hands beginning to trace patterns into Harry’s smooth skin. “No, that’s not what I mean,” he says. “I’ve done sex on the beach before, and never again,” The little afterthought strikes Harry in a little bit of a negative way, a subtle reminder of the boys that Louis has been with before him. But he sees the little flash of silver on his ring finger, and what little sadness he feels disappears instantly. “Well, what do you mean then?” he inquires, his curiosity piqued. Louis flushes for a moment, before patting Harry’s chest awkwardly as he shuffles back a bit so that Harry can sit up completely. 

“You know how a while back, I said I was writing a song?” he says quietly, sounding almost adorably nervous. Harry nods slowly, his heart rate picking up as he starts to put conclusions together in his mind. Even just entertaining the thought of Louis writing a song for him is a little overwhelming, his mind becoming quickly clouded with admiration for the seventeen-year-old. Louis bites down on his lip, pushing his sunglasses back, messing with his fingers before finally speaking again. “So I finally finished, and I don’t know…maybe I can sing it to you?” his voice is barely audible at the end, his face crimson with nerves. Harry feels his heart ache for the boy, knowing how nerve-wracking it must be to put yourself on the spot like that, but he wants to reassure him. He has no to be afraid of what Harry may think. 

He reaches a hand out to lay on top of Louis' restless ones, and they still immediately at his touch, his cerulean eyes darting to meet with Harry’s virescent ones in the blinding sunshine. They match the color of the ocean from this angle, and Harry finds himself getting kind of lost in them as he speaks. “I’d love for you to sing to me, babe,” he says gently, smiling. Louis gulps, but returns the smile halfway, nodding as he sits up straight, closing his eyes and lowering his sunglasses. Harry realizes with a jolt of embarrassment at his own stupidity that of course Louis is going to sing it a capella, as he doesn’t see a piano or guitar anywhere nearby. From what snippets of Louis' singing he’s heard on car rides, he can feel himself giddy with anticipation. 

Louis takes a deep breath, picturing the lyrics and melody in his head, before he begins to softly sing, growing in volume and emotion as he goes on. It’s an upbeat song, but with a rather melancholy message, and Harry can tell almost instantly that it was inspired by his relationship with Louis. It’s detrimental to Louis, however, sympathetic to the other half of the equation. When he arrives at the bridge—his eyes still closed behind the shades—Harry detects a shift in his tone, it’s sadder, almost pleading. 

He can feel his own blood run a little colder at it, and as he listens to the words, he finds himself wondering if they’re actually true, or if it’s all just part of the artistry of the song. Regardless, it makes for a beautiful song, and at the end his eyes are pricked with moisture. Louis lets a little bit of silence hang in the air, before reopening his eyes and lifting his sunglasses to rest on top of his head again. He looks at Harry warily, his cheeks flushed, lips pressed together in a tight line. Harry takes a deep breath, blinking away his tears, before moving to where he’s sitting up on his knees, just a little taller than Louis from this position. He gently takes Louis' porcelain face in his hands, tilting it up so that their eyes meet. Harry runs his thumbs of Louis' high cheekbones, furrowing his brow just a little bit in loving concern. 

Louis parts his lips, assumably to ask why Harry is pulling that expression, but Harry quiets him with a kiss before he can get a word out. He keeps the kiss sweet, precious, his lips really just ghosting over Louis' plump ones. That is, until Louis winds a hand around the back of Harry’s neck and pulls him closer, the pressure increasing against their lips, and turning the kiss passionate. It doesn't get heated though, staying sweet as their lips dance together, fitting like two puzzle pieces, creating a light friction with their movements. 

Harry keeps his hands resting lightly on Louis' cheeks as he pulls away, Louis leaning forward a little in a slightly pitiful attempt to keep the kiss going. Harry chuckles, caressing the smooth skin of his face, admiring his slight pout for a moment before speaking. “Are you still lost?” he asks quietly, not entirely sure why that’s the first question that comes to mind, but desperately wanting to know the answer to it. Louis looks at Harry for a moment, before his gaze darts down to look at his own hands, the ring in particular. He lifts his head, smiling a little as he shakes his head. “No,” he replies. Harry feels his own face break into a smile as he moves to pull Louis carefully against him, hugging him tightly. “It’s a beautiful song, and you have an extraordinary voice,” he says. 

Louis smiles, turning his face into Harry’s neck as he hugs him back tightly, a lot of positive emotions running through him, but mostly relief. “Thank you,” he whispers. Harry chuckles, twisting his neck to kiss the salty skin of his neck. “You should really post some of your singing on the internet, or audition for something, I’d think you’d do really well,” he says as he pulls away, brushing some of Louis' curls out of his eyes. Louis looks at him with wide eyes, immediately shaking his head. “No way, I couldn’t put myself out there like that, it’s too embarrassing,” he recants. 

Harry giggles, running his hands up and down the sides of Louis' arms, contemplating a bit. “I don’t think so,” he muses. Louis bites his lip, staring at Harry uncertainly, before finally shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, maybe one day or something,” he finally sighs, moving off of Harry to lay back down on his towel. Harry hesitates, looking down at his toned body for a moment, before smiling a little to himself. 

“Yeah, one day or something,” 

 

It’s barely two weeks until Harry is scheduled to set off for New Jersey, and while he would much prefer being with Louis right now, spending as much time as with him as possible, he has one thing he absolutely has to do before he leaves. And that thing is talking to Louis' parents. Trying to work out something that allows Louis to feel safe and comfortable coming back home once Harry leaves. While Harry won’t ever feel truly content leaving Louis in the care of two people who can’t seem to quite wrap their heads around the fact that Louis likes boys, he knows it’s the only option. He knows that if things go terribly, horribly wrong that his own parents will step in and do what they can to protect him, but he hopes it doesn’t come to that. 

He’s at Louis' house now, unbeknownst to Louis, who is being distracted by Zayn and Niall at the moment. Louis' older sister, Fizzy, has led him to the living room, before running off to go get Johannah and Mark, and Harry can feel his blood running colder by the second as his nerves start to get to him. He doesn’t quite know what he’s going to say, especially since the last time he interacted with Louis' parents all he got was a slap to the face and a few death glares. But when they walk in this time, and Harry stands up to greet them, they seem regretful of their past actions. Mark himself holds out his hand, an apologetic look on his face. 

“Harry, it’s good to see you,” he says, gently shaking Harry’s sweaty hand. Harry smiles a bit, nodding, before looking over at Johannah, who hesitates a bit, before surprising Harry with a soft hug. She doesn’t seem like a malevolent person, just misunderstood and misguided, and Harry hopes that this little chat will help guide her and her husband in the right direction. After the surprisingly warm hug, all three sit down, Harry facing his boyfriend’s parents. His could-be future in-laws, if everything continues to go well with him and Louis. They both stare at each other for a moment as Harry organizes his thoughts and wording, both of the adults expressions being one of mild curiosity and severe ambivalence. 

Harry takes a deep breath, before offering up a reassuring smile and beginning to talk. “I leave for college in two weeks, to Princeton,” he starts. Mark’s eyebrows soar up his forehead as he and Laurelle share a look together. “Wow, we had no idea what a smart young man you were,” Johannah says, her eyes full of actual admiration. It’s becoming clearer and clearer that these two people are less homophobic than they are just uneducated. It’s not excuse for them not believing Louis' rape or slapping Harry, but it gives Harry hope that he can sway them to become accepting and loving of all lifestyles. “Well, it is difficult to know things about somebody without getting to know them first,” Harry replies, his voice light but his words heavy with double meaning as he lifts his eyes back to look directly at the two of them. 

They both pale a little at his words, but before it gets even a little bit awkward, Harry continues on smoothly, feeling a little more comfortable now that he’s at least made his intentions clear. “I won’t sugarcoat it, Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson,” he says. “I’m not comfortable leaving Louis with you, but I’m sure you can understand why,” He looks at Johannah first, watches as her expression turns from confused to saddened, the corners of her mouth tilting downward. “Now, Harry, I’m not sure what Louis told you but—,” Mark starts to defend, but Harry cuts him off, averting his gaze to that set of dark eyes.

“Louis didn’t have to say anything, Mr. Tomlinson,” he says slowly, locking gazes with him. “I saw enough with my own two eyes. He doesn’t feel welcome here, and that has to change if I have any hope that he’ll be okay without me,” He presses his lips into a tight line after that, and waits for either Mark or Johannah to say anything. They just kind of stare at Harry, Mark slowly closing his mouth and swallowing whatever he was going to say, while Johannah just looks ashamed, her cheeks washed out and her eyes swimming with moisture. Harry inhales deeply, deciding to continue up the conversation himself, wanting nothing more than to get his point across and leave, just to get back to Louis. 

“I know you love him, of course you do, he’s your son,” he continues. “But you have to love him for every part of him, including the part that likes boys…that loves me,” He can feel a little bit of aching in his own heart, for Louis and his predicament, and he can feel the lump forming in his throat, but he has to swallow it, maintaining his composure. He can’t appear weak right now. “And he needs the support of his parents. He is the same person, with the same morals and the same heart, and he needs you, especially since I’m leaving,” His voice is slightly pleading at this point, which he doesn’t particularly like, but if it helps his case, then he’ll leave it be. 

Johannah and Mark seem a bit affected by Harry’s words, their eyes wide and sad, but Harry can’t be sure if it’s genuine sadness for Louis for the right ways, or if they’re somehow twisting Harry’s words in their minds. “We want him to come home to us,” Johannah says, her voice quiet. “And we want him to feel safe,” She’s about to say something more, but Shaun cuts her off, his voice a little louder, a little angry. “But what about his reckless behavior? What about his…his ra…,” he trails off, unable to even say the word. Johannah lets out a little squeak of discomfort, her face paling even more. Harry raises his eyebrows, sitting up a little straighter. 

“His rape? That you didn’t think happened? That you think is an excuse for his supposed reckless behavior?” he prompts, a little bit of malice seep into his tone. He detects a flash of anger in Mark’s eyes, but he presses his mouth together in a tight line and lets Harry answer his own questions. “His rape did happen, and did you ever think that maybe your denial of it was what caused Louis to use his body how he wanted to?” he deadpans, glaring now at Johannah and Mark. These words have the desired effect on the two, their faces draining of color even more, their eyes dilating in evident shame. 

Harry takes this moment to switch gears and turn this conversation into a ultimatum, because it’s apparent that the Tomlinsons are going to need a threat to fully accept Harry’s point. He sits up straighter, choosing his words carefully before he speaks. “You will treat Louis with kindness, and respect, and you will love him just as much as you love your other children,” he says, his voice full of conviction. “And if I get word of even a sour word directed towards him, I won’t hesitate to bring legal action upon you,” He stands up then, smoothing out his jacket. “Homophobia doesn’t suit you, maybe you should try something different,” he finishes, looking at them calmly for one more moment. They stare back up at him, completely shocked, and make no move to stop him as he turns around and lets himself out. 

*two weeks later* 

“Shh, baby, just focus on me, okay?” Harry whispers, pushing Louis' fringe out of his eyes as he slows in his movements, coming to a complete stop as he rests on Harry’s lap. It’s a little hard for the older boy to focus, what with his cock being buried to the hilt inside of Louis' tight heat, but he can see the emotion clear on the younger boy’s face, and he has to address it. The tears drip down Louis' cheeks, glistening like pearls and completely pulling Harry out of his lustful haze. “Okay, it’s okay, love,” he says, carefully lifting Louis up off of him, and laying him next to his side. He pulls his pants up, ignoring his discomfort at the sudden lack of pleasure, and turns to face Louis, who has also pulled his pants up, his face still tear-streaked. 

Harry, feeling his own sadness quickly replacing the lust he just felt, sits up a bit. He moves Louis gently, resting his head over his lap, brushing his hair out of his eyes, before swiping away his tears. Louis looks not at Harry, but just off to the side, at nothing in particular. The tears continue to form in his azure eyes, and they worry Harry just a bit, but he understands it. It’s hitting Louis that he’s about to lose his boyfriend, the one he loves, and it’s the same for Harry. He departs in the morning, and won’t return for four months, Christmastime. While in the grand scheme of things four months isn’t a long time, it is for the young couple. And when he comes back, it’s temporary, until he leaves again. And it’s hitting Louis right now, and it’s hitting him hard. 

“What can I do, babe?” Harry whispers, running both of his hands comfortingly through Louis' chocolate locks. Louis slowly moves his gaze to lock with Harry’s, and he takes a deep, shaky breath, before slowly sitting up. Harry’s hands fall away as he watches Louis with concern, watches as he carefully straddles Harry’s waist, settling his legs on either side of him. He shuffles down just a bit so that his head rests on Harry’s shoulder, his lips against the soft skin of his neck. His warmth breath washes over Harry, along with the colder wetness of his fresh tears. He wraps his thin arms around Harry, cuddling him like a koala. 

“I am so excited for you, Harry,” he whispers, his lips brushing over Harry’s skin. Harry’s jaw clenches at the words, his own arms winding around Louis and holding him close, so close that he can feel his heartbeat reverberating through his own bones. “And I don’t want you to worry about me,” He kisses Harry’s neck then, a few little butterfly kisses. Harry can feel his own tears gathering in his eyes, but he quickly blinks them away, hugging Louis tighter as he steadies his breathing. “I’ll always worry about you, Louis,” he replies quietly, one hand moving up to stroke the back of Louis' head, feeling his silky curls slip through his fingers. 

“But what I don’t worry about is us,” he continues. “Because I think we’re going to be fine,” He turns his head to kiss Louis' cheek at that, as if affirming his thoughts. Louis takes a deep breath, sitting up a little, his face reddened, but no longer glistening with tears. He carefully unwinds his arms from Harry’s torso, lifting his hands to settle on his cheeks, stroking the soft skin for a moment, just staring into his eyes. “You are so beautiful, Harry Styles,” he whispers. Harry can feel his face heat up at the comment, and he rests his hands on Louis' hips, looking at him with love in his eyes. “I love you so much, Louis Tomlinson,” he replies back, equally as soft. 

The two continue to take each other in for another moment, before Louis gently moves one hand to press against Harry’s chest, pushing him back down onto his bed slowly. Harry can feel his heart speed up as he realizes what Louis is doing, but he tries to remain calm. Louis looks at him with slightly sultry but mostly calm eyes as he pulls first Harry’s pants down, and then his own, bringing his hand up to spit on it, before reaching behind him to wrap it around Harry’s cock, slicking it up. Harry lets out an involuntary moan at the sensation, his lust instantly returning with a renewed vigor after being delayed. Louis slicks up Harry’s length, before taking a deep breath, and sinking back onto it, quickly bottoming out. His eyes slide shut as he exhales slowly, his hands pressing flat-palmed against Harry’s bare chest. 

He begins to move slowly, picking a pace more akin to love-making rather than fucking, and Harry is perfectly okay with that, his hands gripping Louis' hips as they rise and fall. His back arches slightly as he feels the muscles sliding around and massaging his cock, trying to experience it as much as he can, since he know it’ll be four long months until he feels these particular sensations again. Not that they won’t entertain skype-sex, but it won’t be anywhere near the same. Louis' hands slide up and down his chest, his own chest glistening with a thin layer of sweat, looking beautiful in the moonlight as he moves languidly on Harry’s lap. 

After having been so close to his high already, Harry doesn’t take long to approach that point again, his face contorting with pleasure as he grips Louis' hips harder, exhaling loudly, his chest rising and falling faster. “I-I’m so close,” he moans. Louis responds by moving his hands to rest over Harry’s, fingers locking around his wrists as he stretches out his movements, sliding almost completely off of Harry, before sinking back down entirely, to where his head is pressed on his prostate. “D-do that again, please,” Harry begs, his muscles starting to contract as the lust builds up in his stomach. Louis chuckles just a bit, but obliges, repeating the movement, letting out little whimpers of his own this time, his grip tightening on Harry’s wrists. 

“Oh, fuck, baby! That feels so good,” Harry praises, his voice husky. He arches his back again as he feels himself about to fall off the edge. He turns his cheek into the pillow, his mouth open in a silent scream as he shakes with the weight of his orgasm, coming hard inside of Louis, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he slurs, hips jerking up into Louis sporadically as he comes. “My s-sweet boy,” Louis breathes, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he sinks down one more time onto Harry’s cock, staying there, letting Harry’s cock push against his prostate. One of his hands releases Harry’s wrist, headed to his own length, but Harry knows even with his eyes still closed what he’s trying to do, and he intercepts Louis' hand, replacing it with his own. He opens his eyes as he wraps his fingers around Louis' hardened, throbbing length. He runs a closed fist over it a few times, watching as Louis' eyes flutter shut, his torso leaning back as he lets Harry guide him to his own release. “Harry,” he whimpers. Harry speeds up his hand, eager for Louis to come now, to feel him come all over his chest. “O-oh! I’m gonna come…,” he trails off after that, reduced only to pleasurable moans as he comes, shooting pretty white streaks over Harry’s abdomen and fingers, hips jerking forward on their own as well. 

Harry smiles, milking him through it, watching the beauty unfold before his eyes and memorizing it as it happens. Once Louis' body relaxes, and his length starts to soften, Harry pulls his hand away, slipping his fingers into his mouth and swallowing Louis' come, humming contently. Louis takes a moment to recover, running a hand through his hair and wiping off Harry’s chest with tissues, before lifting himself off of Harry’s now-soft cock, and rolling onto his back, breathing heavily. Harry does the same, before pulling his sweats up, and pulling Louis close, curling into him. “I love you,” he whispers. 

Louis' breath catches in his throat, before he turns into Harry too, snuggling up against him. “I love you, too,” he replies, before his slide shut, and sleep finds them both. 

*next morning, at the gate to board the flight to New Jersey* 

Harry has said goodbye to his parents, to his siblings, and now, now it’s time to say goodbye to Louis. The hardest person to say goodbye to. His family gives him some space, wandering off to go find something to eat, and it’s just Louis and Harry, standing together, the minutes ticking away before Harry has to turn around and board his plane. They just stare at each other for a minute, before Harry initiates a hug, pulling the smaller boy against him, trying not to get too emotional. “I love you,” he says, unable to think of anything else that encompasses everything he’s feeling. 

Louis smiles, hugging him tighter. “I love you too, Harry,” he says. They hug for a while longer, breathing each other in, memorizing each other’s scents, before Louis suddenly pulls away. “I have something for you, before you go,” he says, reaching into his pocket and producing the small yellow box from way back in December. The one that had his phone number in it. Harry’s eyes widen at the significance of the box, and he looks at Louis, tears threatening to fill his eyes. “Louis…,” he says quietly. Louis blushes, laughing a little as he opens it, speaking softly and quickly. 

“I have to make sure that everyone at Princeton knows that you’re off the market,” he explains, pulling out a little ring, a dark grey almost black color, obsidian you could say. Harry feels his cheeks light on fire as his eyes widen even more and his jaw drops a little. His heart immediately aches and his vision goes blurry with the tears that gather in his eyes. “Louis, I, I don’t know what to say,” he whispers. Louis giggles, gently taking Harry’s left hand, and slipping the ring on to his third finger. “You don’t have to say anything love,” he replies, before slipping his fingers through Harry’s, and looking at him, eye to eye. Heart to heart. Soul to soul. 

This is it. 

“Go kick some fucking Ivy League ass, Harry Styles,” Louis whispers, smiling a little. Harry snorts, laughing adorably as a few tears leak out. He smiles back at Louis, squeezing his hands. “I’ll see you for Christmas, and we’ll Skype every day, yeah?” he says. Louis nods, smiling back. They stay smiling at each other, before slowly, their smiles fade, and they lunge at each other, their lips crashing together, arms wrapping around each other as they kiss in front of everyone at the airport that can see them. But they don’t care. Of course they don’t care. 

This is the end of a huge chapter in both of their lives, and they’re not going to worry about petty eyes watching them. They kiss each other like they’ll never kiss each other again, and they hold each other like they’re about to be torn apart forever, and they make every single second count. As they kiss, Harry’s mind races back through everything that he’s been through this past year, like it usually does. He thinks over everything at lightening speed, from the encounter in the bathroom, to prom night, to their first date, everything. And he hugs Louis tighter, because what a crazy, tantalizing journey it’s been. And he wouldn’t change a single thing, because it brought him here, and it gave him a boy he could love and who loves him back, and that in itself is worth all of the heartbreak and strife it took to get here. 

He loves a boy he used to hate. He’s learned that not everyone is who they appear to be, and that everyone has their demons. And that all demons can be defeated, if you have the right support and the right weapons, and just enough love. 

A person like Louis Tomlinson shouldn’t have quite as much influence as he does over society, but maybe Harry is wrong about that. Maybe Louis has just the right amount of influence to make a difference in people’s lives. Maybe he will do great things with it. 

He thinks he will. 

 

*three years later* 

“Wait, wait, how did you two even meet?” Paul asks, his voice curious, eyes darting from both Harry to Louis. Both boys blush, sharing an embarrassed glance as they try and silently figure out who is going to answer and how. It’s a common question, having been asked more and more now that their careers have taken off, and every time it’s just as embarrassing and just as difficult to answer. It’s not like they could ever give the true answer, as that was just between them, but they never necessarily lied about it per se. 

“Um,” Louis starts, smoothing out his face as he looks back at his security guard. “We met in the school bathrooms,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much for reading this rather long (like harry's di-) fic and if you made it to the very end i sincerely hope you enjoyed it and i thank you!!

**Author's Note:**

> originally published for wattpad


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